Rosy Grimm
by BabyPinecone
Summary: A Little Sister has grown up, although she might not be aware of it or what she should do now she has been freed from the Educational Facility. Other people, however, have uses and their own destinies for those who are still finding their path in the murky world of Rapture... Rated T to be safe. R&R please!
1. Rapture is Crying

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it. I wish I did, though.

Someone was crying.

It was unusual to hear such crying in Rapture. Usually it was just a splicer, but their cries were long and harsh and filled with a sort of violent pleasure. This crying sounded like whoever was producing this quiet but dominant sound was actually mourning something.

But whoever was crying was certainly not very clever, or was ignorant to the other inhabitants of Rapture. Within a couple of minutes it had been called to the attention of many splicers that there was someone out there.

"Do you hear that, my dear?" A woman bent over a rather ramshackled pram, her locks falling down over her face. Her voice was light and feathery, much like her clothes. Tatters of satin and frills fell down over her knees, and scars and cuts laced her bare arms and legs. Her dress was slashed at the bodice, revealing dark purple skin bruised by many fights and brawls. She started to croon softly to the thing inside, swaying gently on her feet. "Someone is crying…" A shudder ran down her spine, and suddenly she was no longer a crooning, gentle creature, but something of spite and wrath. "We'll see what that bitch has to cry about, sweetie." Her hands dived into the pram and in a flash she was holding a long, dented rifle that flashed in the harsh neon light of the Kashmir. As she ran with a deadly precision many splicers joined her in a writhing mass of shouts, hollers and screams. They moved as one, with all intention to kill, and the excitement of a chase coming up.

And the crying continued.

It came from the depths of the Little Wonders Educational Facility, where the empty, stained corridors were filled with the heavy cloud of pain and macabre. In the largest room, where paintings on the wall were filled with simplicity and yet so full of subconscious, terrifying innuendo that it made the whole room dark with death and forbidding.

It wasn't the room that was making the poor child cry. It was the thing eating her out inside.

It is well known in rapture that ADAM is found in sea slugs, and that it also enables the carrier to carry plasmids. It therefore is also known the EVE enables the carrier to use plasmids. Little sisters carry the sea slugs that produce the ADAM in their stomach linings, and are often preyed upon by splicers who crave the ADAM to host the EVE.

But what would happen if a Little Sister injected herself with EVE?

Review, please, as i could really use it! Part two coming up when i get a review of this...thanks!


	2. Meet Rosy

Disclaimer:I do not own bioshock or anything to do with it.

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When Rosy had been taken from her parents at the age of 6 she hadn't much idea of what was going on

When Rosy had been taken from her parents at the age of 6, she hadn't much idea of what was going on. She vaguely remembered that she loved her mother and father very much, and for the first few months of being at the Little Wonders Educational Facility missed them very much. But after her sessions with Dr Suchong and the almost motherly Dr Tenenbaum, she found that she soon dismissed this yearning to instead become interested in the idea of having the power to create fire, to disappear and reappear somewhere else and even to zap people with electricity. Her interest soon became fascination, and in the declining years of rapture that lead up to the night of New Years Eve 1959 she started to observe the few people who started to go slowly insane with EVE and their new found powers. This macabre fascination got her the nickname of 'Rosy Grimm' among the nurses and other young girls, and she found herself being much cared for by a strange man called Atlas, who seemed to see the potential in an ADAM carrier who was obsessed with EVE. For one year Rosy had been educated in the uses of EVE, and she had even come up with the idea of the Hypnotise Big Daddy plasmid after seeing one of Daddy Atlas' (as she soon called him) chumps being sprung upon by Andrew Ryan's splicers while his friends were powerless to help him being torn apart by hooks and wrenches.

But when the Little Wonders Educational Facility slowly began to become infested by insane doctors and nurses (soon to become splicers) and little sisters disappeared in the middle of the night, Rosy's trips to see Daddy Atlas ceased and she was locked in her room, with only a teddy bear for company. Rosy lay awake listening to screamed curses and half-crazed ramblings from the nurses and surgeons as the decrease in ADAM began to drive people crazy. More than once a desperate patient, and sometimes a doctor, tried to break into her cell to "get rid of her stomach ache", but was painfully stopped by a Big Daddy every time. Rosy slowly began to learn how precious this animal inside her stomach was, although at first she didn't really see why someone would want to remove it in any way. Like all Little Sisters, she had been told that there was a poor, frightened creature that was going to die unless Rosy could look after it inside her, "Like a baby" the doctors had said. So Rosy, of course, obliged and had the image of a small creature with big eyes cuddling her stomach as the doctors said it would. She of course soon realised that there was more to the little thing than it seemed.

As Rapture slowly sunk into depression and the visits from nurses and doctors ceased, Rosy often wondered when she would be sent out to retrieve ADAM from the 'angels', and if she would get one of the fabled 'Big Daddies' to be her protector. The tales of Big Daddies had spread across the L.W.E.F., tales of big strong handsome men protected by diving suits,(much like fathers), that would look after them while they brought back the ADAM from the 'angels'. But weeks passed with no contact from the outside world except a small meal twice a day that had materialised when Rosy woke in the morning and when she awoke from her midday nap. She did not know how they got there, or care, but she ate them in a frenzy, and soon began to try and wait up for her meals. But when she did so, and when she stayed awake for two days in a row, she would get no food, and when she finally did awake from her sleep, the meal was considerably smaller, as if to punish her.

And one day, instead of receiving a meal, she received an EVE hypo.

It took Rosy some time to realise what kind of hypo it was, for although it was written clearly on it in untidy writing, Rosy had forgotten how to read. It was only by the small icon of a bending spoon with wavy lines emitting from a man with a look of concentration on his face that Rosy recognised it as the telekinesis plasmid. Many days had passed while Rosy pondered on whether she should use it or keep it. And it just lay there, glowing a beautiful luminous blue, pulsating like a heartbeat. When Rosy touched it, it felt smooth and although it was longer than her two hands cupped together and thicker than her clenched fist, it still _felt _like it was meant to be for her.

On the third day of just staring and holding this heavenly hypodermic needle Rosy heard something outside of her room. Something was slithering down the hall; something seemed to be forcibly pulling itself down to _her door_. Rosy shrunk into the corner instinctively as the sound got louder, cradling the EVE hypo to her tiny chest, bringing her knees up to her chin and shuddering from fear.

It was getting closer.

But the sound was also getting less regular and not as forceful as it had been when Rosy had first heard it. And when she knew it was by her door, and when the noise of nails being run down her metal door slashed its way though her mind, she suddenly realised that it sounded like death. It actually sounded like what death should sound like- that pathetic, struggling last effort to reclaim life for even a second. Then the voice came.

"Open the door, Rosy Grimm." Rosy missed a heartbeat. The voice had long lost any persuasion skills, and it sounded like a dying storm. This…inhuman _thing_ knew not just her name, but her nickname. "You're the last…" A burst of coughing and choking erupted, and then died down enough for the death person to speak. "I need your ADAM…open the _DOOR_!" The voice became strong, and frantic scraping and banging ensued on the door, making it shudder with the desperate last attempts of a dying failure. Then the banging stopped as sudden as it had begun, and Rosy found that she was crying. It was then she knew that this EVE was meant to be used to protect her. She didn't know what she was the last of, exactly, but if someone knew that she had a goldmine of ADAM in her it surely meant that other stronger splicers would too, and she would need protection. So she used the EVE.

Of course, she had seen others taking the EVE. It seemed so easy- slip it in your wrist, push down the pump, and feel the happy surging through you. Every child she encountered called it 'happy'. They didn't seem to want to use the name EVE. It caused fear for those who knew how precious the animal in their stomach was.

As Rosy thrust the needle into her white wrist, she cried out in pain. It touched bone, and felt cold and hard, somehow like water in her veins. But as she slipped the pump down and saw her arm, her veins ignite with this beautiful blue, she felt dizzy with happy. It danced through her body, making her feel light and somehow, in some heavenly way, pure.

Then the hurting started.

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Please review, all opinions welcome. Need at least one before next chapter, sorry!


	3. Angels

First it was just a pinprick in her fingers, like she had been stung

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

First it was just a pinprick in her fingers, like she had been stung. Then she felt like someone had slashed a cut in her palms, which escalated into the feeling that someone was cutting her in long reaping strikes, worrying her like a lioness would to prey, stirring up her insides with wire and stones. It hurt so much Rosy thought she would pass out from the pain, but the sea slug inside her held on tight, twisted in her stomach lining and thrived on the EVE.

Rosy had seen the telekinesis plasmid being tested and gone wrong. Many times. She had seen people being ripped apart by it, whole rooms twisted like a crazed toddlers painting, things exploding and causing pandemonium. Rosy had seen people press themselves up against the special glass window like they were being pressed and beg to be let out, but before their bodies broke Daddy Atlas turned her away.

Daddy Atlas had worked with the doctors and nurses, but Rosy still didn't know why he was never allowed to be seen by any of the strange men in suits that came round to look at her and the other girls. And Rosy always had to stay quiet about her knowledge of plasmids and the 'special patients' who looked scary and had to be kept in secret cells, but were so useful when it came to new plasmids, because they would try _anything _for a little ADAM.

Rosy started to think about the splicers when the hurting started and wouldn't stop. Her brain was getting all muddled and whizzed…she couldn't connect things properly, except for EVE made hurt happen. Everything got blurry, then suddenly sharp and as defined as a knife blade, and then it smudged into black and white while Rosy hugged her stomach and rocked back and forth on the ground in a ball. She thought she heard footsteps, and then shouting, but then everything went quiet while she cried and screamed, her anguish-filled voice echoing around the Facility.

It was a hunt.

"Baby Jane, Baby Jane going to prove to Ryan she's got what it takes!"

"Let's go fry this little fish!"

"Floating on top of the tank, someone needs to open her up…"

The splicers moved as one black creature with arms flailing and those with the 'Incinerate' plasmid throwing handfuls of fire at comrades, laughing hysterically.

The wet floor was shuddering with the forceful pounding of feet on sodden boards. Leaks were common as the Little Wonders Educational Facility got closer. Big Daddies always looked over those leaks while their Little Sisters ran on ahead, so the place was about as waterproof as a sponge.

As the splicers got closer to the Little Wonders Education Facility, some of them noticed the floor was not only shaking from the insistent pounding of feet, but something else seemed to be tearing at the fragile, sodden insides of the floorboards. As they got closer the mob adrenalin was pumping through their blood like water rushes through a burst dam, fuelling their flailing limbs and screeching wails. Tattered dresses and overalls were being torn about by hands and knives, gunshots rung through the stale air, all around the entrance blood was spilled, both fresh and old, wiped on the walls like a macabre finger painting.

The few poor nurses wandering around the institute were soon joining the crowd, with yells to forgotten faces and lost memories of what it was like to be one of a group. Surgeons danced with scalpels, their reflective disks mounted on head straps flashing and casting shadows over faces and weapons and as the screaming got louder, and closer, splicers resorted to stabbing others to try and get an advantage. Blood replaced the leaking water, a broken record played 'How much is that doggie in the window' mercilessly, and somewhere, someone was still screaming.

Rosy couldn't apprehend her screaming anymore. It didn't sound human; it had somehow become detached from her. She listened to it as she felt her nerves breaking, as she became dimply aware of something coming.

As the door to her cell flew open, Rosy looked up through cloudy eyes. She could see something in white, something with red on its hands and yellow hair. An angel? It stood there for a second, a spear of silver glistening in its hand, hovering in the doorway. But something was happening…the angel grew red in the middle, and red blotched through the yellow, and then it was just red, red everywhere, like an elixir, seeping into Rosy's hair, her face, her clothes, washing her clean, everything forgiven like she was being baptised once more…

The first nurse got to the door, pushed a skeletal body out of the way, and threw herself into the room. Blonde hair spilled over her shoulders and out of her cap, her white dress lay in tatters around her fragile yet deadly frame, and her hands glistened with the new blood. The girl lay in the middle of the floor, like a foetus, like one of those small rejected unborn children she had once had to deal with, slippery with blood and something else, something…alien that only the inside could produce. She snapped back to the thing inside this carrier, all that mattered was the girl, she had ADAM, and how it was needed! But then the girl looked up though her dark hair, her eyes murky with shadows and her body trembling fiercely. The nurse could not comprehend what was happening, blue lights glowed through the child's body, and something was stirring inside her head, something that said 'danger' to whoever would listen, but… Something hurt in the nurses chest, there was hustling and bustling behind her, but she was being held still, like she was clamped in a vice, and something was breaking her ribs, and her arms were frozen but shattering, her head felt like tentacles were pushing out of it, and with a gasp, her insides burst out, writhing on the floor, blood drained from every pore, her arms bent backwards, she arched her back and soon she was just an empty crater separating two hordes of destroyers. The splicers took no heed of this emptied vessel lying in their wake, they ploughed through, horde after horde, until craters filled the halls and the last splicer writhed on the floor in his last few moments of life before something important snapped, and he lay still.

As Rosie had seen more and more 'angels' turn red and disappear, she had weakened, draining the happy burning through her into these angels, and at last, after what seemed like centuries of watching these divine beings bloom into red and shimmer into a thousand pieces, the pain went, ebbing out of her like a weak stream through the hills. Rosie lay amidst the bodies and bones, breathing heavily, her dark hair now wet with blood and her blue dress hideously rich with crimson only carnivores knew of. She cried, for now the angels were gone, she saw messes of bones and blood, and she wondered what hell she had stepped into. The happy had dimmed, leaving her with a sense of tragic bewilderment. Then she heard footsteps, paced treading coming towards her, and she looked up tiredly from between the curtains of hair, her hands twitching with the last happy dancing in her veins. A light shone into the dim room, and a silhouette of a shadowy being leant in towards her.

"Don't worry," It said, holding out a hand of mixed greys and blacks, "Come with me, Rosie Grimm."

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Reviews always need, so would be very grateful as always! Next chapter has to be started from scratch, so please be patient-BP


	4. Nat

As the light played round Rosy's small room, the silhouette seemed to give off an aura, and then the shadows were gone and someone was still holding out a hand to Rosy

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

As the light played round Rosy's small room, the silhouette seemed to give off an aura, but then the shadows were gone and someone was still holding out a hand to Rosy.

The hand was not soft, like the nurses, or long and elegant, like the surgeons were, but rough, and yet they still clung onto the essences of youth. It was a kind of light brown colour, the colour that only the strange lights in the garden of Arcadia could turn skin, the colour only a few citizens in rapture had. As Rosy followed the hand up to an arm, and then took in the whole body, she was thinking so many beautiful things her head sparked with colours inside. Even to her isolated eyes, this beautiful shadow was the most handsome thing she had seen…more handsome than her toys Daddy Atlas had bought her, more bewitching than the first glimpse of a new plasmid…and how she felt her dreams soar as a gentle smile brushed across his heavenly face.

"Come with me, Rosy Grimm. You'll be safe, I promise." His voice was gentle, and had a faint tinge of awkward, sharp endings to his words. Light brown eyes glinted under a scruffy head of dark hair the colour of varnish, and a mouth with a small mole on its top lip curved into a smile. Rosy gazed at this marvellous godly specimen, while she took in his dishevelled greyish shirt with the torn sleeves rolled up and rough workmen's trousers tucked untidily into black shining boots rising halfway up his shin. A large scar ran its way from his elbow to his forefinger of his left hand, pink and slightly raised. Rosy thought of it as a line of icing, and longed to touch it.

"Come on, then. We've got to get moving in case any more of those poor souls come for you." As he took her hand and helped her up, something fell down and he turned his head to look sharply over his shoulder, his body going rigid suddenly, causing the lantern he held in his other hand to dip and sway, casting shadows over his face and for a second, he reminded Rosy of the statue she had seen on one of her trips. Then the light stilled, and he turned out of the door and started to walk, guiding Rosy carefully over the corpses. Rosy looked up at him with a mixture of worship and wariness now that the light had changed her perspective of him. She wiped her eyes and then faked a slip, and as he bent down quickly to steady her, she scanned his face for any of the carnivorous looks the splicers had. To her faint relief, he seemed to be as sane as Daddy Atlas had been.

"What's your name?" She asked with the bluntness only pre-adults have as he helped her up off her knees. He smiled, but didn't look directly at her as he carried on walking.

"I'm Nathan. Call me Nat, though- everyone does." He said after a pause.

"Nat's a silly name." Rosy said abruptly as she peered down at some twisted creature lying in the corner.

"So is Rosy Grimm." Rosy couldn't think of a reply to this, so she just started to eat her hair. Since it had been two days since her last meal, Rosy was rather ravenous.

"Where are we going?" She asked Nat, shivering as they went through a doorway.

"Somewhere safe." He replied, as the small beacon of light he held lit up the wrecked shell of the foyer to the medical pavilion. Rosy was too shocked to reply, for the last time she had seen the Medical Pavilion it had been clean and highly maintained. Now the neon sign had been smashed, the walls were scratched and the tiled floor had pieces missing, like a sabotaged chess board. The air conditioning system had been broken, and Rosy shivered again as a gust of icy cold air brushed past her. Nat saw this, and looked guilty for a second.

"Sorry, kid, but I don't have anything to offer you to keep you warm. I'm freezing myself, if it helps." He said, squeezing her hand slightly. As they went under the sign of the medical pavilion he turned sharply and pressed himself up against the wall, handing Rosy the lantern and placing a hand onto a small scratch curving in a crescent. He gently slipped his nail into the scratch and moved it down. A barely audible 'click' came from the inside, and the panel slipped diagonally, enough for Nat to reach up and hook his finger round the top and push it open. A flight of steps lead down into the dark, lit only now and again with a flickering candle on the edge of the steps.

"In you go, Rosy." Nat whispered, ushering her forward before closing the panel again quickly. It slotted back into place and the last few shafts of light were cut off, leaving Rosy to stare up at Nat's shadowed face. "You go on walking down, I'll be behind you." Nat said under his breath, and when Rosy opened her mouth to speak, he put a finger to his lips. Rosy pouted slightly and started to walk down the steps, wiping her shoes on the edges of the steps and keeping her hands planted firmly on the cold, metal walls. Every couple of steps she encountered something crusty, or something wet, but with Nat behind her she continued walking at a steady pace, taking in the crudely chiselled steps and the dented walls. The tunnel twisted and curved like a cable, when all of a sudden light filled the end, bringing a red metal door into view, with heavy bolts studded all over it. Rosy turned to look at Nat. He gently lifted her up under the arms to a small square indentation with a different colour metal behind it. He gently knocked in a complicated, rapid succession and hummed under his breath at the same time, when all of a sudden, the different coloured metal slid up with a loud clang and made Rosy jump. A face looked out into her eyes, their eyes concealed by a black veil that fluttered slightly with every breath the person took. After a second or two the metal block slid down again and the red door opened with a hiss, and as Rosy stepped in, she could see it was well over half a metre thick. The floor was now soft, and as Rosy looked around with amazed eyes, she finally realized deep inside that she was not alone.

Reviews welcome, next chapter up soon! BP


	5. The Slash in the Wall

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

Past the door was a cavernous room filled with so many new things Rosy had never seen, it took her a couple of seconds to realize that there were people in the room too. They were all dotted around randomly, some by a bar in the corner, others lounging around in sofas, and one or two were talking together in groups. They were all looking at her. Rosy jumped as the door swung shut behind her, and a beautifully elegant woman with a black veil concealing her face stepped forward to join the people looking at her. Nat walked over to the bar and helped himself to a drink, then turned and leaned against the polished wooden top, surveying Rosy as well.

"That's her, is it?" A strongly Irish voice asked. Rosy couldn't tell who said it-she was too busy staring at her feet.

"It can't be." A creamy woman's voice said, and suddenly everyone was talking, but Rosy felt isolated and cut off, and it was only when she heard Nat talking loudly everyone stopped.

"She was the only one in that hellhole, and I tell you. There were carcases all over the place, and her shuddering like crazy in the middle of the room."

"She could have killed Rosy." Rosy suddenly spoke up.

"I am Rosy!" She said, outraged, snapping her head up. A woman with long black hair shook her head.

"No you're not. Rosy's a little sister." Her voice was heavily accented with something oriental.

"I am a little sister!" Rosy cried, "Why don't you believe me?" She looked around helplessly.

"You're no little sister. You're a big sister." Rosy shook her head furiously.

"No, I'm not."

"Take a look in the mirror!" Rosy looked around, and ended up being herded towards a mirror the size of one of the posters dotted around Rapture. She stared into her own eyes and tried to comprehend what she was seeing.

The last time Rosy had seen her reflection she had been quite tall for her age, with short dark hair and a blue pinafore dress. The girl staring back at her in the mirror was tall, with long dark brunette hair, a short blue dress that rode up around the chest and arms, and odd patches of red here and there.

"How old are you, Rosy?" Someone asked.

"10" came Rosy's reply.

"When were you 10?"

"19…1959" Rosy stammered, lifting up her right hand. The girl in the mirror lifted up her left.

"It's 1960, kid." An African man said in a deep, rich voice.

"It can't be. I was only in my room for a couple of weeks."

"You mean you were only conscious for a couple of weeks, dear. Probably the first two of the decline of Rapture and the two before Nat here came to collect you."

"But…"

"Sorry, that's the way it is." Rosy was about to speak, but then found she couldn't think of any argument to justify why she was looking at. The woman with the veil sashayed over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine here. We're the survivors of the mayhem in 1959." Her voice was icy and somehow jagged, with odd hints of hysteria. "I'm Christina, Christina Mayle. You've already met Nat, and the others you really need to know are Thomas Steed," The deep voiced African man smiled, "Lin Ritzu" The Chinese woman raised her hand, "And Colin Lloyd."

"Hey there, Miss Grimm." The Irish man had a grin that stretched from ear to ear, and bright red hair. Rosy waved hesitantly to them all, and was ushered away by Christina into a small room by the bar.

"In here is a range of clothes that you will have to choose from. Obviously your current outfit isn't suitable for your current situation." Rosy was unsettled by Christina's voice- it seemed like she was constantly teetering on the bridge of insanity. The veil hanging over her face unsettled Rosy even more. She did not like the fact that she now had to read emotions off only Christina's voice, which was hard, considering her voice seemed to swap from angry to hysterical to neutral by the second.  
Christina left her to choose what she should wear, and Rosy fingered the garments stretching across her newly discovered frame. They were so dear to her, and she had got so used to their feel on her skin that she felt reluctant to let them go and to suddenly have to move into a new style of clothing suited for her new body. She could faintly remember seeing what people called "youths" around Rapture, dressed in clothes not entirely adult, but too sophisticated for children. The racks of clothes around Rosy stretched from formal wear to swimming costumes, tough fabrics for practical work to lace and silk for nightgowns. It was obvious that the survivors had raided all of the shops around Rapture before going into hiding, and Rosy even saw some fashions that must have been around before she was born: dresses with excruciatingly thin bodices and high collars, with long skirts and made of heavy material that was certainly not practical for living in a place where there was not an unlimited supply of air.  
Rosy ran her fingers across the new textures and designs she had suddenly been presented with, and then looked down at her own dress. It was stained with blood and dirt, rips and tears across the bodice marked the progress at which she had grown, and the buttons on her bib front were hanging on by a few threads. Rosy had long since kicked off her shoes as they hurt her ever-expanding feet, but her socks were hanging off her skeletal feet, once white but now a brownish-grey colour, and they smelt like the docks Rosy had once visited with Daddy Atlas. She shook her head to rid herself of the memories that suddenly plagued her head, all the sudden sense all the special patients made, how she could now see, looking back, where the signs were that Rapture was descending into chaos. She turned back to the clothes and started to sort through the garments, casting aside the ones she did not want like the protected life she was about to leave behind.

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Reviews welcome, thanks for reading! BP


	6. Boots, Roses and Questions

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

"What happened to her? Rosy Grimm-the Rosy Grimm I saw- was a sweet little girl, looked about five, with a bob and huge eyes. She was healthy compared to those other ghouls, she was Atlas's favourite! Why have we suddenly got a teen on our hands?" Thomas Steed was standing infront of all the other survivors, running his finger around the rim of his glass, filling the air with a low, mournful sound. He had once been a 'materials' supervisor in the docks, and he had never forgotten the loyal bond all the low-class workers had. He had grown to expect the same loyalty from everyone. He had been unanimously voted leader of the survivors.

"Maybe she's not Rosy. Maybe she's someone been sent in by Atlas or Ryan to infiltrate us." Ida Clifford suggested, a tight-lipped former lawyer who suspected everyone of the worst until she was proved wrong. It had helped her to build up a career, and she had even been present on a case for Andrew Ryan.

"I disagree." Nat came forward, his hands in his pockets, shoulders down, yet he gave off an air of authority. "When I went to get her she had torn apart a dozen splicers with that hypo she got. She was on the floor like, in a curled up ball. I'm telling you, she was exactly like a kid, only in a 15 year olds body. And she still has the mind of a child."

"I'm not saying she isn't Rosy," Thomas reasoned, gazing with unusually light eyes over everyone, maybe pausing for a moment on the now present Christina, "But how could she have grown so quickly?"

"I know how." The whispering between the others stopped as Tenenbaum stood up, her well known German accented voice sending shivers down a few spines. Tenenbaum understood minds more than anyone, and this knowledge was as awesome as it was terrifying. "When I was working with Dr Suchong-" here a couple of people spat and growled. Dr Suchong was the enemy of many, his macabre experiments enough to unsettle and enrage anyone. "We made a boy of two grow progressively to have the body of a man. Rosy could have had the same done to her-we do not know the date of her birth, only what she can tell us. For all we know, she could not be 11, but three." Lin Ritzu spoke up, keeping her eyes on her glass.

"But, as you pointed out, only you and Dr Suchong worked on an experiment such as that. So therefore how could anyone except either of you duplicate it?" There was a silence as all eyes were turned to Tenenbaum. She connected eyes with Lin and spoke, a faint trace of deadly sincerity in her voice.

"I am not proud of what I did. It was wrong, but I met with that same boy-yes, it was him, the one who killed Fontaine-" Talk broke out about this stranger, this amazing stranger who had helped so many and finally ended Fontaine's rule over a ruined Rapture-"and he told me Dr Suchong was dead. So it could not have been either of us. Dr Suchong took credit for many things, and he was not one to give away secrets easily. But if he did- with his egotistic, detailed explanations, it would not have been hard to do it again. I would not put it past Dr Suchong to have sold his knowledge, and even helped, to create Rosy." The talk was now loud and uncontrolled, and it was only when Thomas had shouted for the third time that everyone quietened down.

"We cannot draw conclusions at this present moment. But the fact stands that we have with us a girl claiming to be Rosy Grimm, with the telekinesis power she is supposed to have, as Nat can verify-" Nat nodded, "and she has all the characteristics and appearance of a girl who was a little sister, who could still have the impulses of one, and has lived in a hellhole of a room for near on a year. So what do you suppose we do, just chuck her out at the mercy of the splicers?" There was an awkward silence. Everyone knew how long Rosy would last out in Rapture. "Exactly. So I propose that we allow her to stay, and just see if she can be of any use to us." More or less everyone nodded, but those like Ida Clifford shook their heads and muttered under their breath. Nat drained the last of his tonic water from his glass, and prayed silently that Rosy would prove them wrong.

Rosy looked at herself in the mirror and abandoned all hope as she stepped through the door back into the foyer. Her childish mind was slowly trying to come to terms with her new body, and had never really had much luck with identifying co-ordinating outfits, as she was soon to demonstrate. She still clutched her dress in her hands, unwilling to let it go. Everyone in the room looked up at this scarecrow of a child, and took a moment to come to terms with the newest member of their clan.

Rosy was dressed in a dark blue dress with white buttons down the front, with a smart white collar embroidered with black roses. A white bow was tied round her waist, and the knee-length skirt kicked out slightly at the back. Rosy had chosen it because she remembered seeing a picture of the well-known singer, Anna Culpepper, in a dress much the same, and had always liked since then bows and roses. But she had also donned some bright red leather gloves and a pair of tough workmen's boots that suited her in an odd kind of way. Her hair had been brushed, and it shone a glossy dark brown like it had just been washed (thanks to an injection of Hallelujah Hair Tonic as a child) and fell down in thick curtains to one side of her face, while the smaller portion of her hair rested around her back. Her large dark eyes swept round the room, and her lips parted in a hopeful kind of way, such like the kind of way a small infant would look at its mother in hope of avoiding any wrong-doing.

"You look lovely, Rosy." Nat said awkwardly, turning away quickly to avoid the amused glances of everyone. Soon all the women had crowded round Rosy and where fiddling with her hair, tidying her appearance, wiping grime off her cheeks, and as Rosy looked past them to Thomas, Colin and Nat, the three figureheads of the survivors, she knew that she was now part of a family closer than she could have ever imagined.

* * *

Would really like reviews now please, as I am stretching my mind for Rosy as much as I can-sorry if the last two posts have been a bit off-centre! BP


	7. Secrets Spent in the Library

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

Rosy had spent two weeks at The Vault, as she learnt to call it, when Thomas called her into the library after hours. Everyone else was asleep in the foyer, draped over chairs and sofas, curled up like animals round the warm pipes snaking around the skirting board. Rosy had slept in the clothes closet, under all the coats and among the shoes, where she had made a nest of dusty dresses and soft scarves. Each night she would methodically take off her boots and gloves and hold her old blue dress close to her like a comfort-blanket, for although she had the body of a teen she still had the mind of a child, so the dark scared her as much as it scared any child. Each morning she would be woken by either Lin or Christina, and when she was woken by the latter the hysterical voice would shock her so that she was so alert that everything became knife-sharp as it did when she injected herself with the EVE.

Since the massacre of the splicers, Rosy's telekinesis had stayed quiet. It didn't spring up as she thought it would, and unlike what she had seen in the testing lab, when she lifted her hand nothing rose with it. Rosy wasn't so sure now if she had even injected herself with the EVE at all. No-one had mentioned it either, so Rosy had come to the conclusion that she had dreamt it all.

Little did she know Thomas would soon change all that.

"Sit down, Rosy." He said in his deep voice as Rosy stepped through the archway leading into the library. The ceiling was very high, and on the stretching walls were hundreds of photos from security cameras, of splicers on one wall, rapture in ruin on the other, from parties on one and on the last one, the one facing Rosy, was one big, blown up picture of someone very blurred. Rosy stared at him (for it was, the hair was short and the face was certainly not feminine) for some time until she realised Thomas was talking.

"…and so we just need to fill you in on a couple of things and test you to make sure you aren't going to go haywire. Think you can understand that?" Rosy nodded, fingering her gloves and hoping she hadn't missed anything too important. Thomas leaned back in a dark leather winged armchair. A crackling fire roared beside it, and although there was a small sofa opposite it and to the right of Rosy, he didn't ask her to sit down.

"Okay. First of all, I need to tell you something about you before I start on the big stuff. So-" He looked Rosy up and down. "Obviously you aren't the same girl you thought you were a year ago. That's because when you first showed interest in the 'special medicine' being made, one of the high-and-mighties started to administer a drug to speed up your growth. He-or she- saw some potential in you. This drug, it had been used once before, with astounding results. It was used on that guy there-Jack, we call him." He shoved a thumb behind his back to the photo. "So you could have been used for something when you had the right age body-for what, we don't know. But Rosy, you must understand this-" He looked very serious and his dark eyes searched the pits of hers. "You were meant for something. The two leading powers are dead and gone now, but there are splicers out there who, in their twisted, warped minds- know who you are and why you're so special. That's what you need to know. Think you can remember that?" Rosy found it fairly irritating that he was talking to her like she was an infant.

"Yes."

"Okay then. The next thing you need to know is a little something about two people here."

"Do I know them?"

"Oh, yes." He paused, and looked at Rosy carefully, thinking back to when she first arrived. Then he did something he never thought he'd do again- he gave her a choice.

"Do you want to know what I'm about to tell you, Rosy? It's not very nice, and you certainly won't look at these people in the same way ever again."

"Who is it?" Rosy asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"I can't tell you until you make a choice, Rosy." Rosy shrugged.

"I'd like to know." Thomas nodded, as if he was satisfied with her reply.

"The first person is Christina. She's alright to talk to, and to look at, but under that veil is one of Steinman's worst pieces of work. She used to be real pretty, like a star, but you know, she started to get old, and she wanted her skin to be as youthful as it once was. Steinman injected her with a solution that was supposed to increase the elasticity of her skin to smooth it out, but instead, it reversed it. Half of her face is as sagged as a popped balloon, held up by pins and folded into creases like an old sheet. The other half is just beautiful, the tonic worked on that half alright, but just destroyed the other. She used to be quite fond of the old 'Quickthink' tonic too, and she used to be a dab hand at shooting with the aid of an accuracy tonic, but all these tonics added up to one thing- her increasing insanity. Luckily, she had friends in high places, so she got sufficient warnings about splicing, and she managed to resist the urge to buy more tonics. But the poor soul still teeters on the edge of insanity, even now. That's why her voice is so hysterical sometimes- small things can set her off he she hasn't had her daily sedations." Thomas picked up a glass from the small table next to his chair and took a deep pull at the amber liquid inside.

As she sat in patient silence, Rosy found is surprisingly easy to accept all this and take it in, for it explained things that she found bemusing, which she did not like at all. She was always asking questions when she had been with Daddy Atlas, which he seemed to like, so as she grew up she did not understand why others found it irritating, especially the doctors and nurses. They seemed to have felt uneasy towards her, and if she asked too many questions they would always sharply reprimand her or give her something to do. Thomas set down his glass with a soft 'thud' that pricked up Rosy's ears.

"The other one," He said, looking at Rosy carefully, "Is Nat."


	8. Lucifer's Grim Fall from Grace

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

Rosy made an odd sort of croaking sound, and stared at Thomas. Her lips were slightly apart, and her body had suddenly gone very rigid, like a statue.

_Nat…_

Rosy tried to comprehend what she had just been told, but her brain wasn't allowing her to. A mental barricade was set up, and all Rosy could think about was Nat. His eyes, his face, and now it was all ruined, because he was not as perfect and as god-like as she thought him to be…Everything blurred and swung from sharp to foggy, the room seemed to stretch and spin, and it was only when she felt a hard hand on her shoulder she blinked and everything was back to normal. A crash made her jump, and then she heard another, and another, and soon all of the cases of fish and photos were falling down to join Thomas's broken glass on the floor, like diamonds falling from the sky. Thomas looked down on her with a slightly mournful expression on his normally hard face, his hand grasping her shoulder gently, the shards of glass reflecting in his eyes as Rosy stared into them, losing herself in them.

"Are you okay now, Rosy Grimm?" Thomas asked softly.

"Y…yes. I…Nat…" She looked up at him helplessly, and noticed something wet on her cheek. Tears? Or…She lifted up a gloved hand and brushed the wetness gently, and when she took it away the crimson blood soaked into the worn leather. A shard of red-stained glass lay on her dress, reflecting Rosy's face in a distorted kind of way. A long line of red traced down from just below her eyelid to the right beside her lip, making her look like she was crying blood.

"I'll get that cleaned up-" Thomas started, straightening up.

"No." Thomas stopped, surprised at the strong yet wavering voice that had just emerged from Rosy's mouth. "No." She said again, lifting her head. "Tell me about Nat." Thomas surveyed Rosy, then nodded and sat down in his chair again, first brushing off the glass.

"I've known Nat ever since that Christmas Eve party of 1959. It might not seem that long, a year, but we've been through so much we're as close as brothers now. We all are- we're one big family, you've got to understand. Say something to one person, by the next day its common knowledge. There are no secrets here- and even if you think you have some, something we'll never know, it'll come out eventually. Everything is revealed in time, Rosy Grimm.

"Anyway, back to Nat. Nat worked in the kitchens on Christmas eve, while I worked behind the bar. When those first splicers entered through the doors, he was one of the first to collect his senses and arm himself with a weapon. But he also had the sense to hide- something I, for the fool of me, didn't. I just stood there, staring at the chaos happening, and it was only when one of the wretched creatures bounded up to me that I felt I had to defend myself. Nat, by then, had been watching from within the ridiculous plant arrangement, but he got out of there to run over to the bar like his feet were on fire and shoot this splicer right between the eyes. He saved my life, and from then, we two worked together to try and beat off as many splicers as possible. But something bad happened…when we were running-god, how we ran-Nat got sliced by a hook, right along his arm. It severed a crucial artery, and it was all we could do to wrap it in my jacket and try to keep some of the blood pouring out. But he lost a lot of blood-it was only when we came into contact with a medical station a couple of hours later we could do anything about it. He had to have a blood transfusion. The blood that the machine used though…was the blood from a former doctor, one who had been a little too fond of the old splicing, and had gone insane because of it. So…he's a little temperamental. Not as bad as Christina by far, but he has regular fads of anger. He turns on everyone and gets so violent we have to toss him out onto the streets. Luckily, he's butch enough to survive out there, and the whole anger thing is very routine, so it's the same average time every month or so. Generally, he's very amiable and gentle, but rather quiet, so it's quite obvious when he's a bit infatuated with the splicer gene."

"Has he ever hurt anyone?"

"Well, yes. I expect he's killed a couple of splicers, and h gave me a nasty turn a couple of months back when we got sloppy. But he hasn't hurt anyone in The Vault since then." There was a couple of second's silence.

"Can I go now?" Rosy asked quietly, and when Thomas nodded, she practically ran out of the library, her heavy boots making a crunching sound on the glass, like walking through snow. Thomas glanced back into the fire, and pondered.

As Rosy walked through the foyer as carefully as she could, thoughts rushed round her head like angry wasps. As she tried to sort them out, she passed the bar and jumped as a voice broke the silence.

"Rosy-" Nat was sitting at the bar, a cigarette in his hand. "Did he tell you about my…my-"

"Yes," Rosy cut in, "Yes, he did."

"Right." Nat turned back to face the bottles aligned on the shelves, taking a drag of his cigarette. Rosy stood for a moment, then turned and carried on to the closet.

"Next Wednesday's the next time." Nat said. Rosy didn't reply as she closed the closet door behind her.


	9. Cat among the Pigeons

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

The next morning, Thomas had cleaned up all of the mess in the library with the help of some early-risers, and had told everyone how he had seen a glimpse of Rosy's telekinesis.

"It was like a whirlwind had entered the room. All the tanks on the walls and the photos started to flap and shudder against the walls, and the fire went crazy, like it was an animal being tortured. I could hear the ceiling creaking, and it was when the tanks actually came off the walls and just hovered there I must have shocked her out of it." Everyone had gathered round, and some tutted and shook their heads while others whispered to their neighbours and looked very thoughtful.

"So, does she know about Christina and Nat?" Thomas nodded.

"She seemed to expect the news about Christina, but when I told her about Nat, she suddenly acted in a very adult way. It was like she had switched off her childish mode to something more…efficient. It was quite disconcerting."

"So what could trigger it?" Lin asked, elegantly spooning a section of grapefruit into her curved mouth. Everyone was silent, and a couple of heads turned to Tenenbaum.

"Possibly shock, or overwhelming emotions. I'm not sure. More data is needed." She said, shrugging. The conversation had ended sharply as Nat entered the foyer from his usual sleeping place in the study, and the normal orders for breakfast ensued.

Rosy soon got used to the weekly routines in The Vault. At daytime, halfway through the week, all of the men would go out of the Vault to scrounge Rapture for anything that could be of use, or any rescue submarines. The women left over would check to make sure no entrances to The Vault could be found, and just to tidy up generally. Every Saturday a big meal would be prepared, everyone spending most of the day on it in a very social activity. A very cheerful Italian woman called Rosa-Marie took Rosy under her wing and showed her how to make lasagne from scratch, and soon Rosy undertook the task of carrying plates and cutlery into the Foyer. A huge table would be set up from all the side cabinets, bureaus and wooden crates. The dinner was always very wholehearted, but vague order was administered at the beginning when an old woman called Miss Bird said grace for all of the 'troubled souls' outside of The Vault. Rosy had, of course, been aware of these trouble souls and so been equipped with a pistol and a long length of pipe, and was given regular shooting lessons by an old colonel called Charles Rigsby. She was encouraged to practise with the pipe, and after a few knocks into the wall Rosy became a dab hand at carrying momentum and using it to her advantage.

A week after Rosy had her talk from Thomas, on a Tuesday night, everyone seemed to change. The atmosphere of family unity disappeared once Rosy had gone to bed, and everyone silently crowded around Nat as he finished off his glass of ice water at the bar. He turned to look at all of the now cold faces, and sighed.

"Okay. Let's get this over and done with." He said in a sadly tired voice, as if he had lost a long and brutal battle. Thomas stepped forward and handed him a rusted (or so it seemed) spanner and a pistol with a carved wooden handle, and Christina helped him into a tattered but tailored coat made of brown, coarse material. These small actions had a kind of hallowed ritual about them as they both stepped back into the crowd. Nat walked to the Vault door and heaved it open, not turning back as it shut behind him. He started to climb the stairs in the light of the few flickering candles with a rhythm only those last soldiers returning home know of. He raised his hands to turn the collar of his coat up, and slipped the pistol and the spanner in the deep pockets. A mask was placed neatly in the silken inside pocket, and as Nat put it on he could feel something savage stirring in him already. The cat mask had lost an ear (a reminder of a frantic feud), and a bloody handprint stained half of it, much like the blemish of the memory one of his darker moments held. The door with the slash swung open as Nat pushed it, and he stepped out slowly, as if waiting for something. As soon as it shut, he heard a shrieking from the gallery above him. He threw his head back to see a bedraggled Splicer jump down, her hair askew and her dress ripped and torn. Two hooks flashed in her hands, a maniacal grin permanently plastered on her face where her mouth was stretched up, a smeared lipstick smile. Once she might have been a respectable woman working on the stage to make a living, but now she was reduced to a disillusioned figure in a child's nightmare.

"Baby Jane is going to carve up the alleycat, alleycats should stick to the dirty holes they came from!" She cried, running towards Nat with her hooks held high above her head. Nat calmly waited till she was close, then struck his leg up and hit her in the chin with his heel. There was a sickening 'crack' as her head snapped back and she fell onto the floor with a heavy 'thud' rebounding round the foyer. Nat took out his pistol and crouched down, pressing it to her forehead.

"The alleycat chases scrawny pigeons like you." Two shots rang around his ears, and as he stood up, he felt something twitch inside him, like a string was being pulled. Ghosts appeared everywhere, walking and talking, reading newspapers, but then there were muffled screams, and silver Splicers appeared, cutting them down in hazes of smoke before turning to their vaporous partners and laughing hysterically. Nat froze, and then turned slowly and straightened up as he heard footsteps. He was different- while before he held himself like he was sure of what he was doing in a broody kind of way…now everything was straight and rigid. His arms twitched, and a grin of someone who thought they were superior appeared on his face, the only reminder that Nat held someone else's characteristics. A shadow stepped out of the dark doorway, a pipe dripping blood on the tiled floor. Nat cocked his head in a feral way and started to walk forward at a fast pace, taking the spanner out of his pocket and twirling it round in his hands.

"Good night, sonny." He hissed manically as his hand swung around and hit the figure on the side of the head, smashing him into the wall and leaving a red splatter where he slid down, like smudged make-up upon a cracked mirror. The splicer looked up as his mask slid from his face and two eyes that seemed to be stretched across to the other cheek gazed up at him, the light already leaving them. Nat brought his boot forward and crushed it slowly and excruciatingly into the splicers face, and stopped only when the hands stopped clawing at his foot and he felt the wall touch his boot sole. He took his leg back and wiped it on the splicers clothing, then walked off into the darkness, muttering something under his breath. Rosy watched, and closed the door silently before walking back down the stairs with her head drooping into her shoulders.

Thanks for reading….reviews please! BP


	10. Bread and RosaMarie

I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it. I just love it way too much!

Whenever Rosy looked at Nat he was stained. Always stained. He was never as pure and as angelic as he had once been. Now he was…smudged, vandalised, like a priceless painting might be slashed at an art gallery. Rosy had never learned how to cope with this sudden feeling of abandonment, although Nat had far from abandoned her. He was closer to her than ever, always being where she was, yet not so much following her around as predicting where she would be. If Rosy came from the kitchen into the foyer he'd be leaning against the bar, or lounging in a chair; if she went into the library after a shooting session there he'd be, looking at her as she entered with a small curve of the lip. Once he came looking for her, but when he entered the kitchen, Rosy was busy watching Rosa-Marie cook. Such was the look of simple fascination and purity on her face, Nat blundered back out and went to practice his shooting in the cellar.

Rosy had only ever been in the cellar with Mr Rigsby, and sometimes she would wait at the top of the stairs while Rosa-Marie went down to get some more vinegar, or another barrel of beer. To Rosy's eyes the cellar was a dark place, a reminder of the nights she had spent in her room listening to the drip, drip, drip of leaking pipes while Splicers outside muttered and dragged themselves along, like they had forgotten that walking meant they had to lift their feet off the ground. The cellar meant bad things for Rosy.

"Rosy, _mia bambina, _you've grown!" Rosa-Marie cried as Rosy walked into the kitchen one morning, yawning and taking down her hair.

"Have I?" Rosy stepped back out of the kitchen and walked over to the full-length mirror in the foyer. The gold gilt frame encircled her body. Rosy had, indeed, grown. She was now a good two inches taller, her chest had developed further, and her facial features seemed sharper and more defined. The dress, boots and gloves, however, still fitted as well as they had when she had first chosen them. Rosy returned to the kitchen and went over to Rosa-Marie, who was stirring the scrambled eggs in a large iron pot Rosy had never seen before.

"Madre Rosa-Marie, where did we get that pot from?" She asked as she tied a white apron around her waist.

"Thomas and the lads brought it back from the scavenge yesterday. Isn't it lovely?"

"Yes, but isn't it very heavy?" Rosy gathered the old mixing bowl and the chipped wooden spoon from one of the cupboards and started to mix up the flour, water and yeast to make the bread. There were so many people in The Vault that three loaves got used up in the morning for toast alone.

"_Bambina, _weight is no trouble for me!" Rosa-Marie laughed, cracking more eggs into her beloved pot. Rosy smiled and removed her gloves to start to knead the dough. She looked up as a yawn broke the content silence of the kitchen, and there was Nat.

"Morning, Rosa-Marie." He turned to Rosy. "Morning, Rosy. You've grown."

"I know."

"She looks about eighteen, now doesn't she? Quite the little lady." Nat's corner of his mouth twitched upwards; the closest Rosy had seen him come to smiling since his trip out on Tuesday night.

"Sure does, Nat. Feel like helping out an old lady and her apprentice?"

"Okay. What needs doing?" As Nat and Rosa-Marie set out with getting the rest of breakfast ready Rosy let her mind wander. Her hands absently-minded kneaded the dough. She thought of many things, but her mind settled on her sudden growth. Would she now be asked to help out with the scavenges and other things in the alien world of the adult? The potential weight of responsibility ready to burden Rosy scared her a little. She'd have to do much more…and she didn't know _how._ All the adults coped so well, like it was second nature to them. _But I'm only a child…I think…_ Rosy thought, frowning.

"Hey, I think that dough is pretty done now." Nat said gently, making Rosy jump. She looked down at her hands. The dough was spread out thinly on the wooden board, spilling over at the sides like it was trying to escape from her. Rosy's knuckles were red and as she lifted them up she winced. A large splinter was sticking out of her knuckle at an awkward angle, a consequence of her viscious kneading.

"Here, let me." Nat took Rosy's hand and with his a pair of tweezers handed to him by Rosa-Marie, he carefully plucked the splinter out. Rosy waited for him to let go of her hand, and when he didn't she gently pulled it out and gathered the dough into a tin. Her face had gone a violent red.

"Put it in the oven now, bambina." Rosa-Marie said gently, shooing her towards the huge red oven in the corner of the kitchen. As Rosy opened the oven door a strong gust of hot air elevated out, making Rosy step back and turn her face away. It was then she caught sight of Rosa-Marie talking to Nat as she took the breakfast cutlery out of the draws and onto the battered tray Nat was holding. Her face was utterly blank, but her mouth was moving furiously and her cheeks were red- she looked either angry or scared. Her eyes focused continuously on the cutlery, never looking at Nat. He watched her as she moved with speed, and seemed to be listening to what she said with a certain level of understanding. At last Rosa-Marie looked at him. There was a second of tense silence, and as soon as Rosy saw Rosa-Marie's head start to turn in her direction she hurriedly pushed the tin into the very back of the oven and slammed the door shut. With a forced smile she turned back to Nat and Rosa-Marie, wiping her hands on her white apron. Nat was walking out of the door, with Rosa-Marie looking after him. She looked like she was deep in thought, and when she turned to see Rosy staring at her with what looked more like a grimace than a smile, her own jumped back to her round face.

"Done, little one? Let's get started on the jam then, shall we?"

As always, reviews gratefully received! BP


	11. PhotoSnap Reality

I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it. This is purely in appraisal for it!

Rosy was growing. Still. But even though she had spurted from a 10 year old's body to a 19 year-old's, her growing rate had slowed down to be almost normal. And because she looked so mature, she was now considered to be almost an adult-this gained her the ability to put forward her views in discussions (although she seldom had them-just being in the company a band of sincere 'elders' was enough to make her feel like she was considered a child once again). But with 'maturity' came responsibility.

"You do understand why it's necessary, don't you?" The soft-spoken Lin asked- but somehow Rosy knew that if she said anything but the affirmative she would get no merit. Merit counts in The Vault.

"Yes…but-"

"Don't worry, chickie. It's only a short one tonight. Not long." Colin spoke in a soothing voice, but just the word _scavenge _sounded animal to Rosy. No matter the length of time, it would still remind her of what lay outside.

_You're the last…_

"But I thought no women ever went!" This was one of the unfair times when the elders took advantage of her position.

"You're not exactly a woman!" Thomas laughed, checking his pistol. Rosy looked to Christina for help. Although she couldn't see her eyes, Rosy knew Christina was looking straight at her. The black veil swayed as Christina walked over to the cabinet next to Rosy. For a moment Rosy thought Christina had ignored her look.

"We're in the same position, Rosy Grimm." Christina said softly. Her veil slipped forward slightly as she bent over. A pin gleamed in the light. "They don't consider me a woman either."

"Christina is the only woman here who has the insanity of men to come with us!" Colin laughed- but the way Thomas and the others looked away when this was said and the sudden silence that fell over the bustling lobby said it all. No matter how much of a community the survivors claimed to be it was clear that some defects didn't go unrecognised.

"Remember, Rosy my girl, hit with the crowbar, caress with the gun!" Colonel Rigsby boomed, shaking his walking stick at her from the bar. Rosy nodded and fingered the gun in her battered crocodile skin bag. The crowbar was cold and heavy in her gloved hand.

_It's only a short one._

"OK, everyone. Lock down." Suddenly Rosy was being hustled towards the door, but in silence. In a couple of seconds all the scavengers were in the narrow stairway, with the echo of the closing door to accompany them up to the surface of Rapture.

"Let's keep Rosy in the middle, shall we? Christina, Nat, lead the way." Thomas seemed to herd the two 'rejects' to the front, making them risk themselves in case of splicers. They were expendable. The vast walkways through Rapture were a shamble of what they once were, but (especially) Nat walked through them like they were his own. A ruined palace for the ruined prince… Rosy shook her head. So much fluff seemed to prey on her thoughts.

"What are we looking for?" Rosy asked Colin, her head twitching from side to side like it was being repeatedly jerked on a string.

"Anything that could be useful." Colin's answer was as welcoming as drought was to a farmer. Rosy looked all around, in the corners and dark nooks and crannies where others may overlook. Then-

"There!" Colin whipped around to look back at Rosy.

"What?!"

"There!" Rosy ran forward and picked up what looked like a brick. But as she turned it over, it became clear that it was something much more valuable than a mere sediment of clay.

"A camera!" Colin grabbed it out of Rosy's hands. "The lens is a bit cracked, but only around the edge. It seems to be fine…" He handed it to Thomas like it was gold. Then everyone was walking again. No commendation. Then Thomas turned to Colin.

"Good find. We'll be able to document Rapture properly now." Rosy waited for his polite denial, she waited for pats on the back and smiles.

None.

_I found it! _Rosy longed to cry, but she was pushed down by Colin as everyone swarmed to the sides, in the shadows. Footsteps.

Splicers.

A bit of a spurt I'm on here, so reviews would be helpful to let me know if I'm slipping! BP


	12. Boundaries

I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it. Just thought I'd let you know.

* * *

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Everyone knew about the brutal reality of the splicers and how as soon as they saw you, you were as good as dead. They didn't take kindly to strangers.

"_Somewhere, beyond the Sea…" _A soft, hypnotizing voice ebbed out of the darkness. The light from a single bulb swung back and forth, casting shadows under the features of those who stood in the dark. It was as if they were watching some kind of performance.

"_Somewhere, waiting for me,_

_My lover stands on golden sands…" _A single slippered foot graced its way into the light.

"_And watches the ships that go sailing…" _As the splicer stepped fully into the light, Rosy had to catch her shriek as it tried to force its way out from between her lips. This poor soul may have a voice that could charm angels to sleep, but her face was enough to send Lucifer himself back to his vile pit. Once a palate of beauty, the splicer's face was now smeared like a ruined painting. Her skin was stretched tight over one of her eyes, sweeping it down in a mournful state- but that had not stopped her attempting to apply mascara and liner. Her other eye was a beautiful shade of green that went with her dress, and although it was ripped to expose the bodice underneath, with patches of crusty red sediment here and there, it was clear that it was once a masterpiece of emerald silk and lace. Rosy strained her ears as she heard this ruined masterpiece speak to herself so quietly that it could be mistaken for a mere breath.

"I said, my dear, you should be here, but you said no, you just had to go." Although she was no longer singing out loud, rhyming and tune seemed to be the only speech she knew. "You left me alone, now I want to go home, but in this place I am queen with my face. How pretty I am, as sweet as a lamb with this talent of mine and I feel so divine- this here is my rapturous palace, but it's stained with this bloodshed and malice-I put on my best dress," here she twirled around slowly and elegantly, like she was dancing in a ballroom- "and hope for the best, for this is my home- just me and my Rapture, here all alone." She swayed around the walkway, her arms floating around beside her. She didn't seem to notice any of the scavengers, and as soon as she was around the corner and the sound of her pattering footsteps had disappeared, everyone breathed aloud once again.

"Singing Cindy seems to be on her last legs." Nat commented as they started to walk once again. "She didn't even curtsy today." Rosy was about to laugh when she realised it wasn't a joke. Nat spoke as if he knew her.

_As if…he knew her…_

As they rounded a corner Rosy saw something that made her stop. No one noticed until Christina turned around.

"Rosy Grimm," She said. "What's the matter?"

_You're the last._

At first Rosy thought it was a mannequin. But then there was the dress. Ripped, ruined, red with blood- but unmistakable in Rosy's eyes for what it once was.

"Rosy Grimm-" Voices brushed against Rosy, but she hardly noticed.

_How much is that doggy in the window?_

"Daddy Atlas-"

_The one with the waggley tail?_

"Yes, Rosy?"

_Woof woof!_

"Why does he scream so…"

_How much…_

"He's hurt, my dear."

_Nat…_

"_He's hurt, my dear."_

"Rosy!" Rosy felt a pain in her cheek, and everything was real once more. Christina was before her, and through the veil Rosy saw glints of silver metal and drapes of skin, like some unfinished dress.

"He's hurt." Rosy said before she could stop herself. The foggy memories were still clouding her mind.

"Who is?" Nat swooped into view. "We're all fine here." Rosy looked at him.

"Don't worry." She said, looking around him to the-

"It's gone." Rosy said, almost to herself. "_She's _gone." Not an it. Never an it.

"What has, Rosy?" Colin asked, bending forward. Everyone was closing in.

_No air…_

"The sister." Rosy looked at Colin. "Where is she?" Everyone looked at each other. No one looked at Rosy. Either there was never a sister, or…

_You can't hide her._

_Give her back to me._

"Where is she?" Rosy stood up, walked over to where the sister last was with deliberation. Nothing. But there, in the dried blood…a button. Rosy picked it up and turned it over in her fingers, and then turned her back to the scavengers and put it into her bag discreetly. She looked back at everyone over her shoulder. Lurking in the dark…like the scavengers they were.

_This is how it should be. _Daddy Atlas came back to her. But no memories came with him. _Separate. There are boundaries, my dear. Always boundaries. _Or was it Rosy who was lurking in the dark?

"Let's get going." Thomas commanded, and walked out into a foyer. The cracked windows wept water-how it trickled down the panes…

Rosy went over to the great glass window and looked deep into the sea. There, where you could be free…no boundaries…Fish darted past the window, unaware of the chaos that wreaked inside the new addition to their marine metropolis. Rosy stood, watched…and pondered.

"Alright fellas, I think we should get back. Come on, Rosy." Thomas waited for Rosy to move, but she stayed gazing out of the window. "Rosy!"

Rosy turned round. Something was different.

"Rosy Grimm." She said, staring Thomas straight in the eyes. "My name is Rosy Grimm. You cannot hide me."

"What?" Everyone was looking now, but Rosy continued to hold Thomas' gaze. She turned to look out the window once more. Under her breath she spoke in a very different voice.

"This is how it should be. Always boundaries."

* * *

Reviews, criticism, whatever- You know how I like it! BP


	13. Exile

I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

* * *

In the dark, musty air of the closet Rosy turned the single, battered, bloodstained button over in her hands. She had not given a thought to what had become of all the other little sisters in rapture. The small, innocent little girls she played with at the orphanage who didn't understand happy as she did. They were the only people-could she call them people? They were the only ones who had something in common with Rosy. They were family, in a twisted, forced way, but family all the same. Rosy hung her head. Should she be looking for them?

Were they looking for her?

It was Wednesday. Rosy watched Nat being ceremoniously exiled from The Vault from the doorway of her closet. She held the button tight in her fist, keeping her distance from everyone else not for seclusion so she could think, but because she felt like she no longer belonged. She didn't have the upbringing they had with a mother and father to love and cherish her, with siblings to look out for her and tutor her in social talent. She was brought up by one sadistic maniac who probed her mind as a child, and a dozen doctors, surgeons and nurses who treated her like a test subject rather than a human being. Common manners are taught to you by your parents like respect your elders, don't talk back and how terrible it is to cause someone harm, mental or physical. Rosy was shown the people who tore one another apart for a tiny syringe full of happy, and was always in the company of adults who brain-washed children to collect this happy back from their blood stream once they were dead. When Rosy first entered the Vault she thought she had found a family, but the family she knew didn't sit down to meals and hide underground for fear of being found out. Her family was up on the surface of Rapture like the fearless citizens they were, fighting each other for a place to survive. These people in The Vault had to tip toe around them so they could steal what they have. They were not the gods that Rosy had once thought them to be. They were the slithering underlings who stole from their betters, but did not have the courage to even look at them. The true gods were the ones who were not afraid to show their scars and defend themselves. Rosy's true family awaited above her.

Thomas looked around as the Vault door closed. Rosy was leaning against the closet doorframe, her fist clenched so tight that her knuckles were white and aching to burst from her skin. Her face was dark with writhing emotions that passed jut deep enough below the surface to prevent Thomas from seeing what they were. Before Thomas would have sent Rosa-Marie or someone to talk to her, but ever since her first scavenge, Rosy had changed. She no longer held onto the fringes of childhood. Something had been stirred deep inside her, but Thomas wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was.

Boundaries.

"What do we do about her?" The survivors clustered round the table in the kitchen, keeping their voices low. She was sleeping.

"Something's changed in her, that's for sure. It's like…I don't know." Colin looked tired. Ever since the scavenge he had looked tired.

"If your dog got rabies, what would you do?" Ida Clifford asked, turning her head slowly to look round the whole table. No one replied. "Would you keep it, and live to see it infect everything else around it?" There was silence for a moment.

"No." Lin looked up. "No, I wouldn't."

"Then what would you do?" Ida stepped back as Lin leaned in into the light.

"I'd…" Thomas slammed a hand down on the table.

"No. You hear me, Ida? _No._"

"Then what? What do you suppose we do, oh, glorious leader? You're the one who told Nat to bring her here, and now look what good that did. She wrecked the study and fainted at her first scavenge at the one place where splicers are known to be attracted to. Sure, she killed about twenty of them like the trigger-happy little witch she is, but how long will it be till she realizes that she doesn't belong here?" Ida's voice cracked through the air. It was almost painful to listen to.

"It's too late for that." Thomas muttered.

"Speak up, boy. Some of us can't hear a word over here." Colonel Rigsby barked. He was shushed and the silence was resumed. Ida caught the look on Thomas's face.

"It's a dog-eat-dog world, Steed. Where are you going to have her be when she decides to step forward?"

* * *

Reviews needed….BP


	14. Chilled Resources

I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

Rosy was not invited on the next scavenge. She had been shunted to the fringes of the Vault, like a child throws away an old toy in favour of a new one. Like the discarded doll she was, Rosy kept to the edges of the survivor's society, lurking in the corners as if she was a lioness hunting her prey. And with the ignorance of those who believe themselves to be indestructible, the survivors ignored her, except for when she was glanced at when a group discussion began to unfold- but this was not an attempt to encourage her to participate, but to make sure she would not interfere.

Rosy took to pondering, now that there was no one to distract her from dwelling on her past…or future. Rosy had always regarded those inside the Vault as 'survivors'- whether it was in the admirable way she once did, or in the resented way she did now. Because she was at first accepted into this family, she too considered herself a survivor. But now she noticed the differences between herself and the others. She was not a survivor. A survivor was someone who made it through an experience that presented danger, who fought and struggled against turmoil. Rosy did not fight. She stayed locked in her room, unaware of what was happening outside, protected by something that could not be seen, and yet was there. This protection came in the form of ignorance. She did not fight- she did have to. She was collected, not saved. Rosy was never in any danger, until the danger was all but over. How could she call herself a survivor when she did not know she was surviving, but enduring?

On the night of the next scavenge, Rosy watched as Nat and Christina led the way out of the Vault. Christina and Nat were the only ones in the vault who were kept securely in Rosy's heart. Maybe they did not understand, but they were half-aware of what Rosy was. They could almost identify with her.

Rosy had long since mastered how to get out of the vault on her own. Now that she was a recluse, it was also much easier to slither away unheeded by the remaining women. Ida was the only was who presented a problem. She would watch Rosy out of the corner of her eye, unaware when Rosy was gazing straight at her. Seeing Rosy out of the corner of her eye, Ida could only see a smear of Rosy's dress and hair. That was all she though she needed. In her eyes, it was all that Rosy amounted to. She thought she was discreet, but whenever she was aware of Rosy, her back would straighten up, and she would loop her hair behind her ear. Her head tilted to the side, overall making her resemble a cat. Rosy had never seen a cat, but she recognised instinctual changes to the posture when a threat was presented. Watching the splicers in the test chamber had made her well aware of semi-human responses to suspicion. It was Ida who continued to watch her when the vault door was closed. It was Ida who was preventing her from escaping. Rosy pushed herself away from the wall and walked into the kitchen, aware that as soon as she turned around the corner, she could not be seen unless Ida was to walk in and stare at her straight in the face. Ironically, this was almost was Ida did. She picked up her martini glass and followed Rosy into the kitchen, making her way to the fridge to look for chilled water. As she opened the door a cold breeze caressed her face. She could hear Rosy's footsteps getting closer, but coolly reached into the fridge to grasp the misted glass bottle of water. She licked her lips as the cold brushed against them.

_Shuck. _

The fridge door sped shut quickly and with only the slightest sound of friction against Ida's neck. The metal door struggled to connect to it's strongly magnetic partner, the high-industry fridge having to be as watertight as possible. A crunching sound of vertebrae tingled in the air, and there was a moment's pause before Ida stopped squirming like the weasel she was. Rosy leaned her full weight against the door, only relieving pressure when she saw a thin trickle of blood seep past the magnetic strip. She stepped back and let the body fall to cold tiled floor, pausing to look at a remaining glob of red flesh that was once Ida's tongue perched inside the fridge, pointing towards the martini bottle like a ghastly arrow. Rosy closed the door quietly and turned back to leave the kitchen, leaving the body lying on the floor like an unwanted doll. She waited in the foyer for a few seconds, satisfying herself with the sound of deep breathing coming from all around her. No-one had waken. It was to this obvious sound of life that Rosy left the Vault, looking back only once to see dead Ida's hand at the edge of the kitchen doorway, curled up like a lover's after a final embrace.

Almost at the end, I regret to say…BP


	15. Loss and Recognition

I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it. Except this, of course.

The dark halls and the metallic smells of Rapture curdled in Rosy's nostrils. They sent chills through her body and made her eyes aware of every shape and sound around her, provoking dark suspicions about the darkest of corners and the unreachable, high ceilings. The water outside shone blue through the bulging windows, and cast ripples of light over the stained, cracked tiles scattered over the damp floor, forever moving without sound. Rosy could hear the drip, drip, drip of something near her, she could smell warm, rancid aromas, taste the sudden dryness in her mouth, feel the hard floor through her thick boots, but she could see only what was illuminated by the ethereal blue light. She walked at a leisurely pace along the Kashmir restaurant, tasting her first wine from a chipped glass resting in a corpse's stiff hand, she padded through the Tea Garden and picked a white flower that she settled in her hair, but when she came to the medical pavilion she stopped. She knew that the orphanage was close…although the neon lights had been smashed, they still brought back memories of returning after bright nights with Daddy Atlas and seeing their vibrant colour reflecting off the white floor. The sense of longing within Rosy's bones was too strong, and it pulled Rosy toward the entrance like she was being moved on a production line. Her gloved hands touched the walls as she moved dreamily through the corridors, she glanced at posters with smiling people on them and thought about her old memories of the clinical, reassuring nature of her childhood. Then memories of the Little Wonders Educational Facility returned, and Rosy found herself remembering exactly how to get there. She remembered all the little quirks that children do, like how the lights in the Bathysphere Station looked yellow from below, and how, if you looked closely, just by the doors to the Little Wonders Educational Facility, one of the toy soldiers had black paint smudged over the inside of the trousers, like someone had been jogged when painting it. Rosy got up from investigating this memory, and looked up at the building brick sign above the door. It still delighted her and made her think of toys, purple-black slug things that she dreamt about in the night, because Daddy Atlas did so like letting her see the backstage areas…

Inside clown's faces loomed out through crevices in the walls, the enticing buttons trying to tempt Rosy towards them. In the upper balcony Rosy leaned over the banisters, peering down into rooms with metal beds and colourful posters. She saw piles of bodies centred around one door, and the floor was painted red, and Rosy leaned so far over to look at a bowl that stirred something inside of her she was suddenly not holding onto the banister anymore and instead felt air rushing past her, and the red floor getting closer and closer, and the bowl beneath her growing so fast-

"She'll be somewhere around here, I know it."

Voices.

"Well keep your darned mouth shut then, you boggart!"

Whispers.

"Which one was her room, Nat?"

The room was out of focus. A light shone from above. Footsteps were somewhere close by. Rosy didn't remember why she was scared.

"I can't remember…"

A sharp thud echoed through the air.

"Don't lie to me, Nathan. Now where was that god damned room?!"

"I told you, I-"

Rosy heard another thud, and felt strings by her heart strain. She began to remember where she was, but it came haltingly. Not quick enough.

"Keep the boy there while I go search. You four, come with me. Move quietly. That bitch'll be here somewhere." Quiet pads now, closer, closer…Rosy rose to her feet and stumbled over to a heavy iron door, almost slipping on a red crayon.

"We'll check in there when we come back round. Shifting those carcasses will take too long right now. Move!" She fumbled with the handle and pulled it open, stepping back as fragments of past people rolled in. She looked round and saw footprints walking away from her, and the last glimpse of a person walking round the wide corridor. Rosy looked down at the red mush and carefully navigated across it, hearing snaps and crunches beneath her feet. She followed the red footsteps slowly and carefully, keeping to the sides and tracking through the crimson liquid dripping from the walls. She peered round the corner and saw five men, all handling guns. Thomas Steed was at the front, revelling in the sincerity of the situation. He looked around far too slowly to be completely concerned about what was happening around him. He was doing it purely for show, re-iterating his dominant male figure. Rosy remembered when she first encountered Thomas properly, in the library…suddenly she remembered what else happened in the library. The power that caused so much to be shaken and changed- it was more defence than a gun or a wrench. If only Rosy could harness it and use it…she clutched desperately at the seconds before each outburst. A shock or something, fear, maybe…

Fear, that was it.

Being unable to control it…an overwhelming sense of looseness, as if she forgot everything else.

Rosy tried for a few moments to bring back that feeling. But it didn't work, the acknowledgement of her safety behind this corner wouldn't let it come. She had to…step out.

Instinct set in and tried to pull back Rosy, but she forced herself into the corridor. Her boots sounded heavily against the floor, and suddenly Thomas Steed turned very quickly indeed.

"There she is!"

"Take aim!"

Rosy saw guns flick up, and she felt her breath drain from her lungs-

Not only bullets seared through the air, but bodily bits and guns and boots and clothes…Rosy felt her head hit the ground and coldness washed over her, casting her into oblivion. A smile began to form on her face as she sank into the darkness, and somewhere, something crawled slowly round the corner, turned to Rosy…and waited.

Sorry for the delay in updating! BP


	16. Dripdripdrip

I do not own Bioshock or anything to do with it.

* * *

I should eat.

_Drip _

_drip _

_drip._

Why does my head hurt?

_Drip_

_drip _

_drip._

Cold…

Rosy rolled onto her side, damp wet soaking through her dress. Acidic air stung her throat and made her head pound in excess.

Come on Rosy, move.

She stirred her finger lazily in the puddle on the floor. Her finger moved up to her mouth and the metallic taste soaked into her tongue.

Tastes like-

Rosy heaved herself up, forgetting her thought. She stretched, and then she slowly leant herself against the wall, tilting her head back and tying her hair up.

It all came back.

The white bits on the floor the red water on the walls thepinkstuffonhershoes

Rosy closed her eyes tight.

I have to stop doing this. I have to stop it.

Her fists were white and in her head a thump thump thump of the blood blood blood everywhere on the walls on her shoes and the bits of body and the lump slumped on the floor

That moved.

It moved. It stirred. It had legs and it walked and it came forward and it was Nat.

Are you okay, Rosy?

RosyRosyRosy

Ring a ring of roses a pocketful of poses atishoo atishoo we all fall downdowndown

Rosy? Rosy, Look at me.

Nat wasn't sure what was up with Rosy. She seemed shaken, and her hair was a mess. It was hanging like cloth off of a scarecrow, and some strands were tied up loosely in a piece of string, at the nape of her neck. Her shoes had pieces of….insides on them. Her face was white and she had a large bruise covering her breastbone and one of her cheeks, bright purple against her pale skin.

"Rosy, look at me." Her head was hanging limply and she was whispering something incomprehensible. Nat cupped her chin in his hand and lifted it gently, and as her head dipped backwards her eyes rolled backwards into her head. Sooner than Nat could support her, she had dropped slightly, but she stood back up shakily, like a newborn foal.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm fine."

"I think you need to sit down."

"Nothing."

"I'm fine."

Nat moved his hand to hold her arm, and with the other he brought out a pistol from his deep coat pocket. Muttering words of comfort, he moved off, retaining Rosy under his arm.

_Drip_

_Drip_

_drip._

_

* * *

Update at last. BP_


	17. Wet Feet

I do not own Bioshock or Bioshock 2 or anything to do with it, just this fanfic!

* * *

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

_You're such a drip_

The tiled floor in the corridor had a thin layer of water covering it. Rosy gazed at the reflection of the bottom of her boot before she stood on it and sent ripples out over the surface. The ripples on the water made the corridor look like it was swaying like a serpent. Rosy was swaying with it. Her footing was still unsteady and her headache refused to go away.

"Where are we going?" She asked Nat, but no sound came out, so she said it again. "Where are we going, Nat?"

"I'm taking you to see someone." He looked down at her, and saw the child he had taken from the cell. "Someone who'll help you."

Rosy wiggled her wet toes in her boots, enjoying the feeling of the cool water between them.

"Help me to do what?" Nat looked away, and re-adjusted Rosy's arm around his shoulder.

"To help you…"

He paused.

"Do help me stop the fainting?" Nat glanced at her.

"What fainting?"

"I faint sometimes. When I feel…"

"When you feel what?"

Rosy struggled to find the words.

"Sometimes I feel like I can do- I feel like I can lift things without being there... like I could tear someone in half by wanting to. Or break a wall into a thousand pieces."

"When you get angry?"

Rosy shook her head, after pondering a little while.

"Not always."

They walked a little further, and when they turned a corner the water cleared and Rosy's boots squeaked on the broken tiles.

"Wait a bit." Nat let go of her and she leant on the wall and pulled her boots off. Her white feet made a soft padding sound against the cold tiles. Her boots waited at the side of the corridor, neatly paired up as she and Nat walked on. She didn't lean on Nat, but she toddled out of balance every now and again.

"What's this person's name?" Nat didn't reply.

"If you wait, you'll find out."

"Tell me!"

Nat looked at Rosy, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, Rosy." Rosy glared at the ground moodily. Her feet were getting whiter and the outside skin was getting slightly translucent due to the water. Delicate blue veins peeked out under the surface, and her toenails whitened and pinked at each footstep.

"Why did you take off your boots?" Nat asked. His own leather ones were turning soft, and he could feel them pinching at the sides of his feet.

"They were making my feet go soggy. I prefer them being dry and in the open air."

"Have you ever been to Arcadia, Rosy?"

"No."

"I'll take you there one day, and you can feel the grass on your bare feet. That's even nicer than having them out in the open air."

"Grass?"

"It's like a plant. A big one, that covers the floor."

"Oh. Yes, I'd like that. We'll go to Arcadia one day, you and I." Rosy smiled for the first time in days, and Nat smiled with her. The inside of Rapture seemed to lighten for a second, but when they turned the corner, the corridor turned dark again, and the drip

Drip

Drip

Was heard.

* * *

Read and review, please- sorry for the long pause in between posts, but here it is!

BP


	18. Path of Lamb

I do not own anything to do with Bioshock or Bioshock 2- just this fanfic!

* * *

"Rosy, this is Dr. Sofia Lamb."

She had tightly styled blonde hair and her face was sharply featured. She was thin and her hands were clasped loosely behind her back. Her glasses reflected the light so Rosy couldn't see her eyes.

Rosy didn't trust her.

"Hello, Rosy."

"Hello, Dr Lamb."

Nat looked from one to the other. Rosy was looking up at Dr Lamb from under her eyebrows and her lips were pressed together. Dr Lamb had a small smile on her face and her head was tilted slightly to one side. Nat could feel Rosy squeezing his hand.

_Don't leave._

"Now, Rosy. I hear that you have special talent."

Rosy moved her body back slightly and lifted her chin.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm not going to exploit you." Dr Lamb's voice was steady and calm. "I'm going to help you. And after I've helped you, you can help others." She put a hand to Rosy's shoulder. Rosy didn't flinch, but she could feel the warmth of Dr Lamb's hand through the thin cotton of her dress - and it felt unwelcome to her. "If you'll accompany me, we can begin to help you with discovering how to use this telekinesis."

"Nat's coming too."

"Of course. We'll go when you're ready." Rosy turned her head to look at Nat.

"I'm ready." He said. Rosy nodded.

"We're ready."

Dr Lamb led Rosy and Nat to her office. The tiled floor was colder than the corridor and Rosy could feel a draft coming in from somewhere. Dr Lamb busied herself with papers while Nat and Rosy stood awkwardly by the door. An accu-vox got taken out of a drawer and a table was produced in the centre of the room. The people that carried it in were dressed in uniforms and had butterfly brooches pinned to their lapels. Rosy didn't want to look at their faces, and Nat pulled Rosy closer to him as they walked past them and out of the door. Dr Lamb placed the recorder in the centre of the table and gestured for Rosy and Nat to sit down in the chairs placed by the table. She switched on the tape recorder and walked over to her chair.

"Interview number one. Dr Sofia Lamb, Nathan…" She looked to Nathan, but he shook his head. "Nathan Smith, and Rosy Grimm. Now, Rosy, when did you first become aware that you could use telekinesis?" Rosy looked at Nat, who nodded.

"In my room."

"And do you remember how you came across it?"

"A syringe filled full of happy- EVE- was in my room when I woke up. I used it."

"And what happened after you injected yourself with it?"

"Angels came. And went."

"Angels, Rosy?"

"Angels, Dr Lamb." Rosy looked down at the table. "They went red and broke up into pieces."

"Did you do that to them?"

Rosy shuffled in her seat and turned to look through the window.

"I might have. I-"

"Did you want them to die?"

"No!" Rosy squinted. Blurry shapes were moving outside the window. One stumbled, and something fluttery fell off of its head. It looked like a veiled hat.

"Is that – is that Christina?" Nat turned to look through the dirty window. Outside, being herded by people in white coats with butterfly brooches, were Christina, Lin, Rosa Marie – and others, all the people left in the Vault.

"What are they doing here?" Nat cried, racing to the desk before the window and pressing his face close to the glass. "Why are they here?" He whipped his head round to face Dr Lamb. She was standing between Rosy and him.

"That Vault was safe! They were safe- you've just taken them out of one of the only safe houses in Rapture, and now the splicers will get it -"

"I would appreciate it if you didn't call the people of Rapture that, Nathan." Dr Lamb interrupted in a low, steady voice. Her eyes bore into his.

"People? You call them people?" Nat shook his head, keeping level with her gaze. "Sea slugs are more human than them. They're animals."

"They are the Rapture Family."

"And what kind of a family is that? One that kills children? One that has relatives slaughtering each other over a potato chip?"

"One that looks out for each other and gives rise to the common good, Nathan."

"Well, Sofia- whatever that common good was, it forced people under floorboards, into locked rooms with guns and prayer books. It forced them to shoot their fellow citizens that sought refuge in this Rapture. And when the bullets ran out, this family of yours- the people outside of it used pipes. Wrenches. Bottles. Broomstick handles; they resorted to brute force in order to try to save themselves. They broke up your 'family', because if they didn't, they would get broken instead." Nat cracked a small smile. "Happy families?"

Rosy was on her feet.

"What are you going to do with them?" She circled round Dr Lamb to face her.

"They're being protected. They're going to be put in protective cells."

"Protective cells? You're imprisoning them?" Nat asked incredulously. Dr. Lamb ignored him.

"Rosy, we're protecting them from the dangers of Rapture. But we can't carry on for long. Rapture needs someone like you- with the ability to use such levels of telekinesis to help the people, to protect the infrastructure of Rapture, so no one is left behind." Dr. Lamb placed a hand on Rosy's shoulder. Again. "Will you help us?"

Rosy felt Nat beside her. His hand in hers.

As long as she wasn't alone.

As long as the fainting would stop.

"As long as they're kept alive." Rosy said.

"Of course."

"I'll help."

* * *

R & R, please! BP


	19. Stagnant

I do not own Bioshock or Bioshock 2, though it would be mighty grand if I did.

* * *

The training programme started the next day. Rosy was given new clothes, she was bathed, her hair was cut and set in a more flattering way, and she was given a butterfly brooch. She left it on the table in her room when she went out to her training sessions.

They started off simple- just learning about telekinesis, about what it could do. But when they started to ask her to show them her telekinesis, she couldn't. Rosy just couldn't.

"It's not working."

"Try harder!"

"Put your mind to it!"

It was no use. The telekinesis wouldn't come. Nothing would happen. Rosy would spend sometimes half an hour sitting on the same chair in the same room with the same people in front of her, with the same tennis ball on the table in front of her. She couldn't move it. Not even a millimetre.

"I can't do it." The shame boiled over her face and her nails dug deeper into her hands. The two people looked at each other in confusion.

"Maybe there was a mistake."

"Maybe this is the wrong person."

Maybe it is, thought Rosy. Maybe I'm the wrong person. Maybe I'm the wrong person all over.

As Rosy was walking down the corridor towards her training sessions, she would often look into the rooms as she went by, seeing possibly a bed, maybe a table, sometimes a corpse of a dead inhabitant as the people came to clear it away. But when she was walking to this training session, she saw a room she had never noticed before. A cloth was always hung up in front of the door so she couldn't even see through the peephole, but this time the cloth had fallen down, and lay crumpled on the wet floor. Through the peephole Rosy saw some shapes milling around as they passed into view. She stopped, trying to figure out what they were, and when it came to her, her training session was no longer the priority. She walked closer to the door and gazed through the peephole, and was almost immediately confronted with another pair of eyes. The skin around them was a soft brown colour, but she didn't need to colour of the skin to tell her whose eyes they were.

"Mia bambina!"

"Rosa-Marie!" Rosy felt that Rosa-Marie wanted to hug her, but the stone door between them stopped her. There was silence for a while as Rosa-Marie's eyes searched Rosy's face. She found something different.

"Oh, bambina, how you have changed." Rosy had this said to her too many times. She didn't ask what had changed, but the mournful tone of Rosa-Marie's voice told her hand to reach for the door handle, but it ignored her pleaded warnings about the guards. The door came open with a rusty sigh, and Rosy slipped inside.

Beyond the door was a confusing room- cream, opaque cloth was draped over the walls and the ceiling, but the cement floor was shiny with puddles of green stagnant water, slippery beneath Rosy's shoes. Luxurious red velvet settees lined the walls, and the messily destroyed wall on one side led to another similar room with ornate gold beds with red covers dotted inside, in no organised manner. The brick dust collected with the broken pipes at the sides of the miserable, destroyed wall and made inky patterns in the small bays of clear water. The room was uncomfortably warm, and the familiar people inside it sat silently, either reading the books displayed in carved bookcases or sleeping in the other room. Everything was quiet, and strangely suffocating.

"Look who it is. Rosy Grimm." Lin was sprawled over a settee, her black hair fanning out around her head like a deep sea creature. Her cheeks were hollow and her skin had a strange, yellow tinge to it that Rosy hadn't noticed before.

"Hello."

"Hasn't she grown?" Rosa-Marie asked, standing back and looking Rosy up and down. Her hand touched Rosy's. It was clammy and awkward. A woman that Rosy vaguely recognised spoke.

"Isn't she the spitting image of Dr. Lamb?" No-one agreed, but they all looked.

"No." Rosy said. "I'm not like Dr. Lamb."

"But you are, Rosy." Rosa-Marie said softly. Rosy looked at her and saw a tired old woman. The healthy looking, rosy-cheeked mother had gone. "You're going to save Rapture."

Rosy didn't want to reply to this.

"Where's Christina?"

The women looked ashamed, and some turned away.

"She's in a different cell." Lin said finally.

"Why?"

"We don't know." Their faces deceived their lies. Rosy couldn't cope with being there any more, so she left the room and closed the door behind her. She wanted to put the cloth back up and forget about the room, but she was walking before she could do anything else. The last door at the end of the corridor also had a cloth covering it, but Rosy pulled it off of the nails holding it in place and looked though the peephole. Sitting on a bed was Christina, her veiled hat almost falling off of her head. Her black clothes stood out painfully against the soft cream colour of the cloth covering the walls.

"Christina." Rosy said softly, and tapped on the door. Christina looked up hesitantly, adjusting her veil so her face was covered again.

"Hello, Rosy Grimm." She did not get up off of the bed, neither did she invite her in.

"Christina, have I changed?" Rosy tried to open the door, but there was no handle. The empty nail holes where one should have been wept drips of water.

"Yes, Rosy."

"How?" Rosy guessed Christina was looking at her, because her head did not move until she got up and opened the door. She still did not ask Rosy to come in. It was as if she had stopped by her house unexpectedly.

"You're older. Taller. And different."

"Christina, I don't want to save Rapture."

"I know. But you have to try." Christina's voice was as high and wavering as before, but Rosy no longer heard it as she first did. Instead she heard the voice she imagined Christina must have had before Rosy met her. Calm, level and soft. The kind of voice Rosy thought her mother must have had.

The silence did not pass.

"Goodbye, Rosy." Christina closed the door, and through the peephole Rosy saw her go and sit back on her bed. Stepping away, Rosy hesitated in the corridor. Nothing has changed.

"You're late, Rosy." Dr. Lamb was attending this time. Nat stood behind her, leaning against the wall. Rosy looked different, and inside himself, Nat could feel something stirring again. Her white dress and her white shoes were as clean as before, and when combined with her softly set, long dark hair, Rosy looked just the same as when he had first seen her as a child. But she had changed. She no longer looked like the young adult. She had grown. He remembered what Dr. Lamb had said.

"It's settled now. She's lucky."

"How?" It was the night after Rosy had accepted Dr. Lamb's offer. Rosy was being seen to by one of the people in white coats, being dressed and bathed and cared for.

"She was a test. She's lucky the formula worked well."

"Formula? Formula for what?"

"Dr Lamb had glanced at him. She seemed to have realized who she was talking to. "She'll be stable soon. No more erratic growing. The telekinesis should stop being so erratic too."

Nat gazed at Rosy. She had grown. Her face and neck were longer, her lips had become less pouted, and her eyes were no longer wide and almost circular, but thinner and curved. But she was not as perfect as Nat had first seen- her arms were slightly too long, and she still had the awkward mannerisms of someone younger.

"Let's begin. As before, Rosy." Dr. Lamb said, and regarded her as Rosy sat down and gazed at the tennis ball in front of her. Her nurse's dress fitted almost perfectly, except for being slightly baggy at the chest, but it was nothing that couldn't be altered. Her shoes were still clean, and the slight heel hadn't started to wear away as others had on the rough cement floors. There was hardly a stitch out of place in the clothes, and Rosy was almost perfect. She was quiet, and obeyed her instructions, and Dr. Lamb was delighted that Rosy was beginning to do things for herself in order to make them easier for others. She was coming along well.

The tennis ball shuddered.

Nat blinked.

It shuddered violently.

Rosy's face did not alter. It was as motionless as before, like a slab of marble.

It rose.

Hands were clapping and voices were cheering, feet were moving and people were hugging, but Nat only saw Rosy's cream china face gazing at the globe hanging in the air; still, serene, and silent.

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Reviews really really needed as it gets me going again- BP


	20. The Request

I do not own Bioshock or Bioshock 2, or anything to do with them.

No one really knew how Rosy could suddenly use telekinesis with such control and skill. No one really knew how to inquire about it either, so they stayed not knowing- but even Rosy herself wasn't really sure how she did it. It was as if she had drawn a line between wanting to use her telekinesis and understanding how to use her telekinesis, then all of a sudden everything worked. What the line exactly was, Rosy couldn't put her finger on. Maybe it was being told she had changed. Like she had been reborn, said Dr Lamb. But Rosy stayed quiet on the subject on the rebirth and the Rapture Family, very much like children stay quiet about toys being stuffed creatures and not anthropomorphic, sentient beings.

Dr Lamb had invited Rosy to have dinner with her one evening, but when Rosy and Nat arrived at the door to her office, Nat got turned away. "I would like to talk to Rosy alone, Nathan." Dr Lamb had said.

"Alright, Dr Lamb." Nat nodded goodbye to Rosy as she was guided into the study. The door shut quietly after her. Rosy and Dr Lamb ate in silence. Neither of them were bothered with small talk, because they both knew that the talking after the meal was the only reason she was there. When they had finished Dr Lamb pushed the plates aside and folded her hands in her lap. Rosy rested her arms on the table and held a level gaze with her.

Dr Lamb started to speak.

"Rosy, Rapture is getting old. Limbs of the body of Rapture are dying, and if they are left, then Rapture will follow. I need you to help Rapture to stay alive."

Rosy wasn't completely taken in by the request.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to be one of the limbs, Rosy. The Rapture Family needs you to help to protect the Little Sisters… and what they're carrying." Rosy thought for a bit.

"ADAM?"

"Yes."

"Why ADAM? The Big Daddies protect the Little Sisters," Rosy said "and the ADAM."

"Big Daddies aren't invincible, Rosy. When Big Daddies fail, Rapture can't have anyone taking the ADAM unfairly. It has to stay within the Family. When it goes astray, Rapture has to re-acquire it."

"Using what? Me?"

"You're not being used. It's your choice, Rosy. Everything so far has been your choice."

Rosy took some time to think. She had an uneasy feeling as to where this was leading.

"What would I have to do?" Dr Lamb rose.

"Come with me, and I'll explain."

Rosy did not get up instantly. Dr Lamb gazed down at her, and Rosy was sure she becoming aware that she was beginning to not trust her.

"You won't be committing to anything by coming with me, Rosy. In the end, it will be your choice."

Rosy broke her gaze and rested her eyes on the tabletop. Then, she pushed the chair back and stood up, turning to face Dr Lamb as she did so.

She was already walking away.

Rosy followed her out of her study and through the halls. She turned too many corners to keep count of, and just when she began to get her bearings, Dr Lamb paused in front of a door. It opened soundlessly, but as Rosy walked through it she saw a number code mounted next to it. As it closed behind her, the sound of gears could be heard clicking and whirring, and then fell silent. Rosy found herself in a small room, barely bigger than a bathroom, with an industrial door facing her. A green light over the door flickered on, and it swung open, eerily silent. Dr Lamb led Rosy into the room, and stopped.

Rosy felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"Who are they?"

Reviews always appreciated, BP


	21. Past the Point of Prevention

I do not own Bioshock or Bioshock 2, or anything to do with them.

The room was cavernous. Rosy held onto the metal railings guarding the platform she and Dr Lamb stood on, and gazed down the metal stairs to the scene below.

Scattered throughout the vast space were a number of figures, shadowy at first, but as Rosy's eyes adjusted to the bright light, she began to make out limbs and heads and, eventually, faces. From these sallow countenances peered out bright, glowing eyes of a yellow colour, and blushed cheeks deepened in hue as the inhabitants of the room peered up at her. Their lithe forms inclined towards Rosy, a little clumsily, a little too jerkily to be viewed comfortably. Rosy could distinguish that they were, indeed, feminine, as their hair was long (but unkempt), and even from a height, Rosy could see the beginnings of womanhood to touch some aspects of them. They were dressed in curiously mangled outfits- some in ripped workers overalls and dirty shirts, others in strained dresses with buttons hanging loose, and one or two wore dishevelled skirts and woollen blouses filled with holes. They looked pitiful.

"These are Big Sisters, Rosy."

Whispering started to echo around the chamber. Rosy felt uneasy- she recognized the faint red hair of one of the Big Sisters in particular, and the birth mark on another's neck. Her old playmates surrounded the stairs below her. It was beyond doubt that they too remembered her. Rosy could feel curiosity stirring in the room, and was quenched with a desire to escape. She was about to speak to Dr Lamb when she heard a metallic _thud _very close to her. One of the Big Sisters had (unbelievably) jumped up onto the metal railing Rosy was holding onto- she perched there, and it was up close that Rosy was able to see the grey bags under her luminous eyes and the painfully purple tinge to her lips.

"Dr Lamb-" Rosy stumbled back, her heart thudding in her ears. "Dr Lamb, I'm ready to leave." She felt a stutter crawling up her throat. The Big Sister didn't stop watching her.

"Rosy, will you help Rapture?"

"Dr Lamb, I'm ready to leave."

"Rapture needs your help, Rosy."

"_Dr Lamb-_" Another Big Sister leapt up onto the railing.

"They're nothing to be frightened of."

Rosy backed into Dr Lamb.

"Help us, Rosy." Rosy wasn't sure who said it, but the eyes of the Big Sisters started to blur.

"I-"

She felt that familiar feeling coming on again. Her vision amplified to a razor extent.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

She could feel something touching her arm.

The room started to stretch.

Rosy desperately tried to keep the feeling at bay, but she knew that it had got past the point of prevention. She could feel herself getting weightless, and it was when she couldn't feel her hair on her neck anymore that she started to think more frantically.

Then it occurred to her, blindingly dazzling in her mind.

Control.

She started to breathe shallowly. With every breath she felt more and more certain. The panic started to fade away. Her breaths got more regular and deeper, and she felt her feet touch the ground again. Her hair fell over her shoulders, and she saw the pins she had put in it clatter to the floor. The Big Sisters weren't on the railings anymore, but Rosy could see Dr Lamb standing close to the door out of the corner of her eye. The door was buckled inwards, ever so slightly.

"Rosy. Will you help?" Dr Lamb's level, calm voice secured Rosy in reality once more.

Rosy nodded.

The whispering started again.

Two chapters in one day, amazingly. BP


	22. Howl

I do not own Bioshock or Bioshock 2, or anything to do with them.

Rosy was not used to all the equipment she had been dressed in. It weighed her down, and it took some time for her to get accustomed to moving with it bolted onto her.

Nat came to sit in on her first training session.

"What's that cage for, Rosy?"

"The Little Sisters." Rosy replied as she cleared a couple of metres in a single bound. Her telekinesis had improved enormously since her panic in the Big Sister room, and Nat guessed it was because of that that she was able to jump such huge distances. Sometimes Nat thought she was on the verge of flight.

"It looks rather…bleak, doesn't it? Can't you do something to brighten your whole outfit up?" He couldn't see Rosy's face, but the portholes in the helmet swivelled to face him. The gentle green light shone out, and Nat thought he could see a shadow moving behind it.

"How?" The muffled voice sounded slightly metallic.

Nat shrugged. Rosy continued to follow the course set out for her. Nat watched her stumble round benches and duck under poles for a while. She was beginning to use the weight stapled to her back and feet to her advantage. It helped her to move with more power, and Nat secretly pitied the person who stepped in her path.

"Looks like you're getting the hang of it, Rosy." He commented as she completed a cartwheel with her hands barely brushing the ground. As she landed on her feet, they seemed to give way. She fell to her knees, and sat there for a moment.

"Nat?"

"Yes?" She unscrewed the helmet, and her head emerged in a puff of steam. She turned her head to look at him.

"Do I look like those Big Sisters?"

"I'm not sure, I've never seen one."

Rosy stood up and went over to Nat. Her heavy boots thudded on the ground, and the cage clinked quietly on the gas tank. Nat looked nervously at the long needle attached to her arm as she sat down beside him.

"Describe my face." She commanded. Nat eyed her with a hint of suspicion, but complied.

"You have an oval face, pale skin…" he surveyed her eyes. A tick of concern awoke within. "Dark eyes, and arched eyebrows."

Rosy didn't speak for a couple of seconds. Then, she nodded and resumed her training.

Nat got up.

"I'll be back in a minute."

"Ok." The voice echoed within the helmet.

"Dr Lamb, can I speak with you for a moment?" Nat rested again the doorway to her office. She turned around, her tightly rolled hair reflecting the light.

"Of course. Come in, Nathan."

"Rosy's stopped growing, hasn't she?"

"Yes. I'm certain of it."

"So, tell me this, Doctor. Her eyes-"

"You've noticed." Dr Lamb sat down in her chair. "Yes, now the growing has stopped, she should procure more characteristics common to the Big Sisters. The serum won't prevent anymore of the effects of the ADAM slug within her."

"Are you planning to tell her?"

"From the way you've just come in questioning me about it, I assume she's already stirred the notion."

"She asked me to describe her face."

"Did you tell her about her eyes?"

"No. I lied." Nat looked away. "What do Big Sisters look like?" Dr Lamb swivelled in her chair back to work at papers on her desk.

"You won't have to wait long to find out."

"Nat!" Nat stirred slightly under his sheets. "_Nat!_"

His door trembled with pounds from the other side. Nat fell out of his bed and heaved the door open, and scarcely a second had passed before Rosy had grabbed his arms and begun to shake them wildly.

"My eyes!"

"What about them?" Nat sat her down and pried her hands off of his forearms. But even though they were out of the light falling out of the hallway through the doorframe, he was still faintly bathed in a golden glow. Rosy's eyes shone out like a pair of lanterns.

"Look at them, Nat! And look at my skin! It's _grey_!" Nat looked at her. Her voice had a hint of something behind it. For a moment it reminded him of the little voices he used to hear in the corridors.

"Rosy, listen to me. You don't need to worry about this."

"I'm a Big Sister!" Her voice trembled.

"Rosy-"

She buried her head into his shoulder. Nat desperately grasped at the only thing he could think to say.

"But you're doing this for Rapture, Rosy. Nothing's going to change within you, is it? It's only the outside."

Rosy didn't reply.

Rosy came by Nat's room the next day with a husky, strained voice.

"They did something to my throat." She croaked when she saw Nat's surprised expression.

"Well, don't speak if it hurts."

Rosy gestured for him to follow her. Nat did so, and after a time of walking they reached the room filled with the Big Sisters. Rosy hadn't got entirely used to her new appearance, but she was instructed by Dr Lamb to spend some time each day with the others 'like yourself', as she had put it. Nat had never seen other Big Sisters before.

He tried not to act horrified.

They were repulsive things to him. The way they slunk around reminded him of beastly things that hid in the shadows, so he stayed on the platform while Rosy walked down the stairs to them. To his horror, one crept up behind her and stroked her hair. Rosy whipped round and gave a cry of surprise.

Nat held his hands to his ears.

The yelp may only have been a split second in duration, but it stung his ears. It was a hideous blend of something heathen and the wrenching anguish of the like Nat had never heard before.

Rosy composed herself, and warily patted the Big Sister on the arm. The other Big Sisters took this as a cue to crowd round her, and soon the eerie whispering voices filled the cavern. Nat was slightly unsettled to see that she conversed with them in the same whispery voice.

When Rosy finally began to mount the stairs, Nat watched the others carefully. They gazed up at her with what Nat interpreted as awe. He knew Dr Lamb had almost certainly told them that Rosy was 'going to save Rapture'. What he didn't understand was why they weren't told the same thing. Surely they shared the same purpose as her?

"They think I'll be able to go out soon." She uttered with a slight scratch to her breathy voice. The metallic edge was still there. It created an unsettling mix.

"When is 'soon'?" Nat asked. Rosy moved her shoulders slightly.

"One of them said something is stirring within the Little Sisters. They said that they could hear something coming from all of them."

"What would that be?" Rosy led him out of the room and turned to face him.

"Something collective." She said. "Something like…" She searched for the word. "I'm not sure." But she smiled. Nat didn't like the smile. "But it feels nice."

BP


	23. The Venture

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Bioshock franchise. Sigh...

* * *

"Someone wicked is planning to ruin the Rapture Family, Rosy."

Rosy held her hands in her lap and watched Dr Lamb as she walked towards her.

"He means to harm us."

Rosy remembered the whisperings that had come from the Little Sisters. She stayed silent.

"He is an enemy of the people. He must be stopped."

Rosy felt she could almost hear that faint voice again. The voice that came through the Little Sisters…

"You must stop him, Rosy. For the family."

_Father…_

"So you're going to stop him?" Nat asked as Rosy tightened the buckles on her legs.

Rosy concentrated on the buckles.

"Is it safe for you to go outside? In the sea?" Nat went up to the door that separated the sea from him and Rosy, and tapped it with his knuckles. "Isn't your suit supposed to be pressurized?"

"It will be fine. I've practised."

"Can you swim?"

"I can swim fine. Just as well as any of the others."

Rosy picked up the helmet from the bench she was sitting on and clamped it over her head. It swivelled, and with a small puff, a green light illuminated the inside. The shadow behind the portholes moved very slightly, and Nat watched it carefully as she moved around, fiddling all the time with things on her arm. The long harpoon-like needle glinted in the electric light.

"Don't set yourself alight." Nat called after her as she moved into the draining chamber. Rosy had been given a rapid tutorial with the Incinerate! plasmid- but, to the surprise of those around her, rather than using it instead of her telekinesis, she found a way to combine the two. By managing – somehow - to detach the fire from her hands, she found she was able to throw balls of flames- this had been greeted with apprehension from some (Nat being one of them) and silence by others. Rosy cared more for the apprehension than she did for the quiet that fell over the testing chamber when she demonstrated this to an effect.

Turning around to face the lever, Rosy tested her helmet once more to make sure it was secure, and tugged at a strap on her bodice. With a last look to Nat, she pulled the lever- with some effort-and the door slid down between them with an efficient slicing noise. The room started to fill with the cold sea water, and as it pooled around Rosy's feet, she listened for the noises within her suit.

"_Remember to listen for the clicks, Rosy. Once you hear them you're good to go."_

Rosy hadn't seen anyone go out in an unpressurized suit, but she had seen the angels tear up into a million little pieces, and she imagined the process to be much like that.

The water was now up to her waist, and she could feel it growing warm against her skin already- her body below the water swivelled out of shape and seemed to float a couple of inches below her. The ocean enveloped her helmet, and she could feel herself becoming lighter, as if her weight was transferred to the sea- as she rose, the door ahead of her slid open, and the glorious ocean floor beckoned to her.

But she had to wait for the clicks first.

She could feel a tight squeezing sensation- as if she was being held in a giant's clenching fist, and her breathing became shallower and shallower as her vision began to blur-

_Click click click click clickclickcliiiick._

The last click, more drawn out than the rest, was like the fist was opening, blooming, blossoming, and Rosy could breathe freely once more. She reached out with her arms and grasped the outside edges of the draining room, and pulled herself out of the chamber, out into the wide open sea. Rapture loomed high above her head, and as she swam up, she could see figures moving around behind windows. When some saw her, they ran- but some didn't. Some Rosy could still see even when she was far above them, looking up at her, but they vanished soon enough.

Rosy's swimming lessons had been brief. Once she had learned how to manoeuvre in the ocean, and how to use her weighty suit to her own advantage, she was left to roam free. She had sometimes gone out with one or two other silent Big Sisters, but they always broke off somewhat unexpectedly, and left her alone as she idled on rocks and floated by vast portholes offering a vision into Rapture. She wasn't entirely familiar with the whole city, even after endless hours of touring its realm, but she eventually began to stay close to the buildings, and use the windows and walkways to gage where she was.

Rosy was not told where the… 'defiler' would be, but as she passed over a large spherical window, almost obscured by plants and coral, out of the corner of her eye she saw a small something moving around on the flooded floor below. After a brief moment, Rosy realised it was a Little Sister. She seemed to be doing something with an object that Rosy couldn't quite see- but it was not this that Rosy was concentrating on, it rather being the absence of any protector with the child. Feeling a looming sense of fear for the Little Sister, Rosy propelled herself around the structure, rapidly missing a collision with a Big Daddy, until she came upon a draining chamber. The lever inside was practically immoveable, being almost grown over with coral and covered in a filmy slime left by seaweed- She tugged on it repeatedly, but even though she tried with all her strength, Rosy began to feel a rising tide of panic as it wasn't moving at all. Finally, with a wild swing of her arm and a ferocious scream that left her ears ringing, she let loose a wave of incredible telekinesis- however, although the door slid down, and the room began to drain, the lever lay on the floor, wrenched from its socket. Rosy briefly contemplated what this would mean when she needed to get out, but her mind was quickly once again consumed with thoughts of the Little Sister. She bounded out of the draining chamber and paused involuntarily for a moment, arrested at first by the sight of two magnificent statues posing before a window leading out to the seabed, and secondly by the absence of any stairs leading up to the balustrade above her. After a second of deliberation, she sprung up to the balustrade in a single leap, using her telekinesis to elevate her to the platform. The door slid open before her, and she rapidly manoeuvred around the corners, not pausing to read the scrawled wording on the wall beside her, or to consider the state of the insides of the city she had not seen for so long- her only thought was of the defenceless Little Sister.

But there was something else. Rosy had never seen a Little Sister without a Big Daddy before. The Little Sister Rosy saw seemed to have a sense of purpose- she wasn't idling or playing any feeble little games while Rosy had been watching her. It was almost as if she was - in some obscure, slightly secretive way - preparing for something…

* * *

Sorry for the exceptionally long wait, I've been busy planning for the first time ever. Reviews welcomed, thanks for reading! BP


	24. Him

I do not own anything in the Bioshock franchise. Annoyingly.

* * *

Rosy almost collided headfirst with the door in front of her, such was the speed she was running at. She ducked under it hurriedly as it slid up (at what seemed to be an impossibly slow speed) and found herself in a ruined foyer. The floor was spread over with pools of stagnant water, and an eerily prominent model of a globe teetered before her on its pedestal. But there was no time to contemplate this, and as she bounded past it she almost stood on a dishevelled corpse cowering in its shadow, and tried not to think of the poor thing's last moments. She descended down a small flight of stairs, and headed to a door not too far away- but as it slid up, she jumped, with a shock: a Big Daddy corpse lay in front of her, in a pitiful position, with its head bowed in such an abysmal way that Rosy thought for a second that it must of died weeping. The rivet gun that once belonged to the protector lay on Rosy's side of the door, and as she ran through, she accidently caught it with the tip of her foot. With a loud, resonant scraping sound it spun round and halted under the door, and as Rosy ran round the pool in the room below, she could hear the repeated, harsh clanking sound of metal against metal. She carried on running, but as she turned a corner and passed a rapidly leaking window she stopped- the door in front of her had blue, crackling sparks flying erratically from its edges. Hesitating only for a second, by manipulating the sides with telekinesis she managed to pry it up high enough for her to slip under- but as it slammed shut behind her, Rosy could still hear it fizzling with an electric tendency.

She ran round the drained pool, flitting in between the shadows of the immense statues towering above her, but as she approached the stairs leading up to an empty doorway she heard something in the distance. It was a monotonous, weary sort of sound, like someone slowly banging a nail into a brick wall with a hammer -and it was getting louder. With a sense of dread, Rosy flung herself onto the nearest statue, and hung there, waiting to throw herself at whatever came through the entrance. It dawned on her that it could be the interloper Dr Lamb had sent her to… 'stop'. That word held such hidden meaning. Rosy felt what Dr Lamb really meant as soon as she had said it.

She didn't notice a small figure darting through the light shining into the doorway. She was too busy straining her eyes to look at something just coming into her sight-

She saw it. Him. A hulking, heavy mass of a thing that tramped into the light. And she felt such fear that she couldn't stand to wait. Rosy let out a low cry of uneasiness as she sprung backwards onto the statue behind her, and she had scarcely got a grip on its slippery surface before she had launched herself across the width of the pool to a mirrored statue still further back. She felt it shudder, and propelled herself backwards, falling over herself in mid air in the process- but she landed too near to the edge of the pool, so she hastily jumped backwards and, with a look to the monstrous enormity of the frame illuminated by the shaft of light, she leapt upwards into the cavernous refuge of the ceiling.

Air vents, torn gaps in the walls and hollowed-out ceilings in the decaying structure of Rapture had been used by its dwellers for a long time, meaning that any troublesome obstacles had been cleared- and so Rosy found it relatively easy to navigate through the maze of ceiling pathways hidden from view in the Adonis. She crawled and scaled the carved tunnels without trouble, and managed to find a quiet spot free of much rubble to pause and catch her breath. No sooner had she leant against the caved-in wall, however, that she remembered the Little Sister. Guilt engulfed her entire being, and she imagined limp little bodies and monstrous shadows leering over them, with sharp things and rabid, feral yelps of glee- so it was with a huge sense of relief that she heard that peculiar, eerie voice echo through her temporary den. It seemed to be very close- Rosy lowered herself to her knees, and saw through the gap in the wall in front of her another hollowed out area, and through that, framed in the edges of the ripped open wall, a Little Sister. The child's faint voice stirred in the air.

"…find her and you'll be all better!" She seemed to be about to speak again, but at that moment Rosy saw something looming in front of the Little Sister- as the thought struck her that it could be one of those horrific inhabitants that stalked those poor creatures, she darted forwards, grabbing the young girl on her way, and sped around a corner and down a corridor lined with a couple of (notably) fresh corpses. She heard the Little Sister yelp and cry out what seemed to be "Daddy!", but without thinking about what this could mean, she instead found her way back to the cavern in the ceiling and propelled herself up, still holding onto the Little Sister. The child was whimpering, but Rosy whispered soft, familiar things to her as she clambered through the tunnels, and the Little Sister soon fell silent without protest. After a short while, Rosy could see a small glimmer of light growing bigger in the distance, and she soon found herself back in the foyer where she had first seen that rusting globe on its pedestal. The Little Sister under her arm let out a gasp of delight.

"ADAM! There!" Rosy saw the corpse the girl was pointing at, and so, curious as to how ADAM is gathered, she set her down gently, and watched her as the Little Sister kneeled down beside it, and murmured to herself while ferociously stabbing her needle into the ribcage of the withered corpse. Rosy tried not to retch. However, still keeping an eye on the Little Sister, she looked around the huge foyer with a slight sense of awe. She climbed the stairs that led up to nothing, and, inquisitive as to what could be on the other side, she cleared the gap in a single leap and started to pry around on the disconnected platform. Suitcases, a couple of candles and a shell of a body littered the small space. Rosy traced a poster with one gloved finger, and then turned to look at the Little Sister below.

He was there.

The Little Sister was gesturing to him to pick her up- in such an eager way that it made Rosy feel almost repulsed. Hardly realizing it herself, she let out an animal shriek, and, feeling sudden lights upon her, moved to the edge of the platform. He was looking up at her, and with a sense of abandon and pure recklessness, Rosy soared into the air and landed on the globe, and jumped from there onto the intruder himself with all her weight behind her. Yet he did not flinch. She held onto his helmet with one hand and looked him up and down, seeing the faint red glow from her helmet reflect on his own bronze one. He didn't look ruthless to her. To her, he even felt strangely inviting.

But, remembering her purpose in being sent to find him, Rosy flung herself backwards. She landed, and setting her sights on…Him, she braced herself.

He brought his hands up in front of him, a weapon in one, and cradled in the other, Rosy could see the flicker of electricity.

She didn't prefer to think she liked to fight. But it was with such a thrill that she let out a cry- and, summoning all her courage and might- charged.

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Wow, I must be on a roll. Two chapters in two days? Devotion. Constructive criticism appreciated very much, blah blah blah. BP


	25. The Retreat

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within the Bioshock franchise. At all. God damnit.

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He could fight. But Rosy had almost expected this, as he had some structural tones of the protectors she saw around Rapture. But he was different- more agile, not as lumbering as the hulking masses that followed the little skipping phantoms. He walked upright instead of hunched over like an ape, and – to Rosy's amazement- he could throw electricity. Blue handfuls of lightening that made Rosy shudder and halt in her path, which ran up and down her spine as if hundred of spiders were climbing her vertebrae. Yes, they hurt her too- as well as the hard thuds of the metal fired from the robust gun that seemed oddly industrial- but the pain wasn't as grounded like any other. It felt instead like the hurt she had felt when she first injected herself with the Happy, in that curious old room so long ago…

Rosy managed to dislocate flames from her hands and hurl them at Him periodically, and as he moved into her view, she did charge- but as the fight continued, she was struck by a growing reluctance to battle with Him. As she hurled another fistful of fire at Him she caught him stumble- and Rosy was strangely affected by this. He may feel pain, she thought, he may be hurt- and I am the one causing that torment. Although he was an adequate opponent, Rosy felt as if she was toying with him- she didn't use her telekinesis for fear of denting his bronzed helmet, and she paused unintentionally every now and again when she saw him hesitate- there seemed to be something barring her from unleashing a devastating torrent of conflict upon him.

He stumbled again, and Rosy saw him look up at her. In a split second they connected- two portholes gazed at each other, one golden and one crimson- and Rosy saw something like her. Something… she felt a jolt inside of her, and met with intense pity for him, and, almost simultaneously, took this opportunity to flee. She didn't want to kill him. Not by her hand. To see him stumble, and fall, and not get up- a true nightmare.

She fled through the door through which she had come right at the beginning of her entrance into the Adonis, and ran as fast as she could; she longed to escape Him. Blue sparks dropped down upon her helmet, and rubble scattered before her feet -Rosy tried to retreat through a broken wall to her right, but she could hear him behind her, and the path was a hellish sort of dead end- she leapt back, seeing him to her right as he advanced up towards her, she bolted, and, seeing a drop in front of her, launched herself towards the two magnificent statues posing before the huge window leading out to the sea- and an idea sprung forward in her head. It was ugly, and it would destroy much of that resting in her shadow, in this part of Rapture- but her anxiety, and her need to escape overweighed this twang of conscience. She heard a tremendous thud behind her, and threw herself up and over the statues, stabbing her harpoon into the glass and dragging it beside her- the emerging screeching, high pitched sound was ear-splitting, and as she landed heavily on the other side, she looked up- she could see water already forcing itself through the crack, and when she saw a torrent shoot through, she turned and sprinted back towards the draining chamber (Rosy didn't see Him, and she didn't want to) and brought the door down after her, forcibly using her telekinetic skill, raising her arms and bringing them down with almighty vigour- in response to which the door plummeted downwards, hard enough to seal her within, without the slightest bit of water leaking through. She heard, from inside, the glass crack and splinter, and the deafening sound of the ocean rushing in- and no more. The peace enveloped her, but it was claustrophobically so. Rosy looked at the broken lever on the ground, and at the door leading out into the grounds of outer Rapture. She was unsure as to what to do. If she lifted the door up, water would force itself in at too quick a pace, and she wouldn't have time to allow her suit to adjust to the pressure, leaving her with a substantial risk of- being ended. But what else to do? She could not escape through the way she had just come, as the same result was likely to ensue- perhaps…

Rosy had a wild notion as to what she could do. It would take enormous mental control and discipline, more than she had ever endured- but it seemed to be the only way. Maybe if she allowed the water to flow in at a steady pace it would give her suit time to adjust. But she would have to restrain the door at the same time, practically meaning she would have to try to restrain the ocean itself to stop it flowing in at such lethal force. But it was the only option.

Rosy stood facing the ocean. She took a deep breath, and held her hands out in front of her, and raised the door slowly. Water gushed in at a rapid pace, and Rosy could sense resistance against her telekinesis. The door caved inwards ever so slightly- but enough for Rosy to feel it. The water continued to pool in around her feet, and within a couple of seconds it had enveloped her feet. It rose, and Rosy realized, with a sense of awe, she could master holding the very ocean back with not nearly as much trouble as she had anticipated. But as soon as this thought occurred to her, the door buckled as if it had been punched. A crack appeared, and water flooded in, and the level quickly rose to her hips, and it didn't stop rising- Rosy closed her eyes and willed every inch of her being to hold back the sea, and she began to hear clicks, and warmth replaced the cold against her skin, but she could feel the giant's fist closing around her again and it was doing so with more strength than she had ever felt, and she could feel herself loosing consciousness, the world becoming white and her head becoming light-

-_iiiiick_

Rosy was floating at the top of the room. She blinked, and moved herself upright once more. Everything had a whiteish, blurred tinge to it, but she was pleased enough that she could see to care too much. Rosy thought she must have been unconscious for a couple of seconds, but her body felt stiff, as if she had not moved it for hours- she slowly pulled herself out from underneath the door, and looked around. All seemed to be well. She could see no sign of Him, and proceeded to swim away from the husk of the Adonis. As she swam by shadows shrunk away from the windows she passed, and lights were switched on in her wake. However, her legs were still stiff, so she descended towards the Atlantic Express Depot area to rest, where she had often paused on her previous expeditions to admire the sea life that swam by. She rested her feet on the seabed and looked up at the dazzling creatures swimming by, fearing the ones with teeth and tentacles, but admiring those with scales the shimmered with soft hues while waiting for the stiff feeling in her legs and arms to diminish. A shoal of brightly coloured fish passed by, and she turned to watch them- but rested her eyes instead on a figure emerging out of the light and walking slowly towards her. It was Him. He moved with a sort of heavy grace, and Rosy, feeling as if she was in a dream, propelled herself gently upwards out of his way, and gazed down at him in bewilderment, resting on the sign above the door. He looked up at her, and she felt suffocatingly ashamed, so she swam away, around the building and out of his silently judgmental sight.

She wanted to forget about him and the shameful deed she had committed. But he loitered in her mind. He would not leave.

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Boy, I am reeling these chapters off. Mostly to my own surprise. Reviews welcome, thank you for reading! BP


	26. Stop

I do not own Bioshock, Bioshock 2, or anything to do with Bioshock. Except this fanfic (hands off!).

Rosy swam idly. She was loitering, contemplating over the meaning of the word 'stop'. It meant to prevent something from going any further, as if they were paused, frozen in time, like the images on an unmoving zoetrope. Rosy imagined her type of stopping something to be ornamental, like marble statues, or those tableaus of an eccentric artist she had heard people muttering about. Rosy didn't want the gore and that last, desperate fight beforehand where crying out for your life wouldn't stop the swing of a drill or a fireball hurtling towards you, where nothing could be stopped until right at the end when it was the last, merciful thing one could do. Rosy thought the latter was what Dr Lamb wanted her to do. In Rosy's mind, Dr Lamb wanted the fight- she wanted blood to fall upon a white marble floor, she wanted the vanquished kneeling before the Absolute End came, and the gentle fluttering instruments of the blessed Victor to put out the last amber light in the brass lantern.

But someone could be frightened into stopping what they were doing, you didn't _have_ to put a more permanent end to their actions. Rosy knew from Nat's tales that not every splicer had to be killed. If you ran at them with your hand full of fire or your gun loaded and steady, or even if you just charged at them, screaming and matching their mad ferocity, some fled. They disappeared around corners or threw themselves into rooms, and whimpered as you strolled past. Then they stopped. If they got up when you were gone, that wasn't your fault, because you had stopped them once, however briefly…

With this approach in mind, Rosy kicked her legs and sailed towards the Atlantic Express. At the second level she managed to find a flooded draining chamber used for disposing of rubbish and scrap metal, but as she eased herself into the tunnel she couldn't help but notice the corpse that was floating near the ceiling. She pulled it out and let it sink to the seabed while she glided in and reached up at the metal trapdoor above her and pushed. Unsurprisingly, it didn't move. With a small burst of telekinesis, however, it flung open and Rosy climbed out. She was halfway out when she heard a triumphant screech from behind her, and ducked just in time to see a splicer leap over her head, a lead pipe in its hand. It disappeared around a corner, completely ignoring Rosy and the thing that clattered to the floor in a flash of silver in its wake. After Rosy had closed the trapdoor, she walked over and looked down at the butterfly badge resting in a small puddle of water. It looked rusty and battered, with half a wing missing. Rosy had only seen enamel butterflies on the shirts of the people in Persephone. It was a paper one that this splicer should have had, as paper ones were usually found in the fists of splicers and curled up corpses, crumpled and soggy- and not always soggy with water. Rosy left the butterfly where it lay and followed the corridor until she came to a platform above a large, open dome. Controls and switches were scattered in front of her on an electric panel, and she was about the reach out her hand to touch the softly pulsing red and green buttons when she heard the echo of the gentle, yet urgent voice that the other Big Sisters whispered about.

_Mother won't be able to… to toy with you like that ever again._

The voice sounded angry. Disgusted. Rosy didn't know who the Mother was. Maybe Dr Lamb could tell her. Or Nat. Nat seemed to know a lot about the things that people left unsaid.

Rosy needed to find something to scare Him. She pushed the bizarre suspicion that had stirred in the back of her mind about the Mother away, and returned the way she had come, back into the scrap metal workshop. She didn't want to attack him again, she needed something that would persuade him to leave…she began to rifle through the drawers of the tipped over desks and the battered filing cabinets, but all the paper had long since rotted away, and all she could find besides paperclips and mould was nails and bolts. She couldn't exactly throw a fist of nails at him. But there, in the corner-

A playpen. Its fences were made out of sheets of thin metal, scrawled with crayon drawings of jellyfish and flowers. There was a hollow crate propped up beside one of the walls filled with alphabet blocks, next to a teddy bear and some straw dolls that had gone mouldy. Drawings and scraps of paper cut into butterflies and flowers were stuck all over the walls surrounding it, and there was a pink pillow in one corner with a Pep-Bar tucked underneath. But none of the items distracted from the ominous, large red stain on the playpen floor, strewn with scraps of purple cloth. A torn white ribbon lay in the middle, and what Rosy at first thought was a pearl- but as she got closer, it looked less spherical and, eerily, more familiar.

It was a tooth.

Rosy felt a wave of nausea and backed away, but then stopped. The alphabet blocks. Maybe if she showed them to him- showed him that these were real children, who played with toys, who weren't there to be used- maybe he's understand, and go away. She picked up as many as she could and hurriedly left the workshop and the disturbing playpen behind her. She knew it was a half-desperate gesture, but she felt curiously obliged to Him. She wanted to make him understand.

Rosy was back at the control panel, and flung herself over the side, holding the blocks tight as the floor sped towards her. She landed with a loud clanging sound and hid beside the stairs on her right and waited. A dull thudding sound was getting louder. She knew it was him, just as she knew he had to come through the switching hub. It was the only way- through windows and portholes she had seen blocked staircases, broken elevators, and the lift in the switching hub was in almost perfect condition. Her excursions with the other Big Sisters had not been wasted; they had shown her- with silent gestures and whispers- where they waited, where the remaining citizens of Rapture always walked because there was no other way. Now Rosy waited, and when she saw his amber glow grow in the stairwell beneath, she let the blocks fall and roll down the stairs. Had he understood? She heard him pause, but he kept coming.

_No!_

She threw herself at the top of the stairs and turned to face his massive frame ascending towards her, and with a screech of frustration she retreated, up onto the carriage behind her, back to the control panel and up, up, up, away from Him, who had left her with no other option than to flee. Rosy's feet carried her swiftly up the long metal arm suspended above the train compartments below, and leapt onto the claw, and turned to look down at Him. He was still moving, towards the splicers she could see running at him- she could hear a desperate warning crackle through the air from his radio, and, unable to bear the sight of him any longer (whether through frustration or despair, she did not know), she propelled herself up into the nest of wires in the ceiling. There she hid, and waited. This time she made up her mind about the meaning of the word 'stop'.

The word 'stop' meant that Rosy did not like Dr Lamb anymore.


	27. Good Soldiers

I do not own Bioshock, Bioshock 2, or anything to do with Bioshock. Except this fanfic (hands off!).

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"Rosy - tell me, please - why did you allow the Defiler to reach the Atlantic Express Train Station?"

Rosy was sitting in front of Dr Lamb, in a cold wet room that she had never been in before.

"I tried to stop him. He didn't understand."

Dr Lamb was looking at Rosy in what seemed to be an earnest manner, but for the glint of her glasses and the precision of her gaze as she stood immovable with her hands held before her, her head tilted ever so slightly as she surveyed Rosy. Rosy was looking as passive as possible; her eyes were kept on Dr Lamb and her feet were uncrossed, her hands resting in her lap. She was trying to prevent Dr Lamb from seeing that she was resisting her. A quiet voice inside her head asked why it was that looking passive seemed to stop Dr Lamb from asking more questions.

"You must try harder, Rosy. The Defiler would not spare the Family if they did not understand. He would march on, even with bodies beneath his feet. You must be the one to shield our Family."

"With the other Big Sisters?" Rosy knew as soon as the inquiry had found its way out of her mouth that her question had not been passive enough. Rosy was implicating herself in Dr Lamb's plan. That was not passive behaviour at all.

This was confirmed when Dr Lamb straightened the alignment of her head and let her shoulders rest a bit lower.

"Yes. Of course." She paused. She thought for a moment, as she viewed Rosy, and then delivered her judgement. "Your fellow Big Sisters shall be with you the next time you go to stop the Defiler. Perhaps he will understand what two of you mean, if one is not enough."

What else could Rosy do but nod her head and leave the room? What else could she do but be as obliging as she could and hope that what she wanted to do could be disguised as passive?

What else could she do but go and talk to Nat?

Beyond the wavering glow of the sea limpets that clung onto the walls of the main corridor, Nat was sitting in front of a large glass window that looked out onto the bluish seabed, in one of the battered metal chairs, with one of the slightly damp books that could be found neatly stacked in almost every room. He was wearing his pensive, inattentive look with his eyes fixed on the page for the sake of dissuading people from interrupting his thoughts. Rosy stood to his side until he lifted his head and looked to her.

"What is it?" He asked, closing the book without marking the page. He knew that when Rosy waited for him to notice her she needed to talk. Or, she needed him to talk. He wasn't wrong. After they had found somewhere to sit- a somewhere that just happened to be out of the sight of security cameras, in a particularly leaky corner of Persephone that sent any electrical device sparking and crackling and at the end of a long corridor with no doors- Rosy told Nat what she wanted to do. Or rather, what she didn't want to do.

"I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to stop him either."

"What's the problem? If you don't want to, don't do it." Rosy shook her head dismissively.

"Dr Lamb wants me to. She's sending another Big Sister to accompany me next time, so I can't avoid doing … something." Rosy didn't want to mention what she had been instructed to do. However, Nat seemed to understand what she was referring to, as his brow furrowed and his lips thinned into a grim line.

"She's asked you kill him?" Rosy nodded. Nat raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples, as if trying to massage away the thought. His voice was more intense the next time he spoke. "I'll tell her-"

Rosy didn't have to say anything. She just looked at Nat with her luminescent eyes. He held her gaze, and then looked away and shifted his legs. "I know Lamb is dangerous. She's too calm to be anything but precise in her orders, so she isn't likely to change her mind about your child-minders. What you need to do – if you really don't want to hurt this Defiler character- is take advantage of the fact that you're going to be in a group. Not all of you need to be inside of Rapture at the same time as the Defiler. You remain outside in the briny blue, and keep watch from the other side of the glass. Keep the Big Sisters informed about where he is, but for Christ's sake, don't go inside."

"The others will tell Dr Lamb that I didn't go with them."

"Hasn't it occurred to you that by the time the Defiler is finished, there might not be any 'others' left?" Rosy was taken aback by Nat's bluntness. She hadn't considered the possibility that a Big Sister might not be enough to stop Him. They were the elder protectors of Rapture, they had walked the halls and knew its secrets better than anyone, and they could bend fire and ice to their will. They were the Ultimate Defence. She had assumed they were also the Ultimate Force. Perhaps they weren't. "Rosy, this Defiler dealt with a whole assault of splicers from the Family in the Atlantic Express without taking one hit. It's all over Persephone, everyone knows he's almost indestructible. He has weapons that not even a Big Daddy can master, electricity jumps from his fingertips – with mastery I didn't think was possible except for a Big Sister- and he's encased in armour of bronzen steel, or something at least as strong."

"But Big Sisters have grown up with plasmids, and they're faster, and stealthier. His footsteps can be felt through the floor before they're heard."

"Alright. Big Sisters may be more skilled. But they don't think for themselves. They play King of the Hill for Dr Lamb in their attempts to keep the Family under control; whatever her will is, they obey. She keeps them in a metal chamber with damp in the air and a lock on the door, for God's sake. The Defiler thinks, and acts, without anyone telling him what to do: he isn't controlled, he has free will, and he uses it. You must understand how that makes him more powerful than Lamb's minions." Rosy was almost in a trance, thinking of the Big Sisters, and her fight with Him, and how he kept assailing her, and how the Little Sister spoke to him before Rosy had stolen her away… and the voice. The disgusted, forceful voice that had criticized the Mother and yet had spoken with such care. Rosy was about to ask Nat about the voice when she felt something on her hands, and when she looked down she saw that another pair were holding her own. They were Nat's.

"I don't want you with the other Big Sisters." His grip tightened ever so slightly on her hands. "If you go in with the Big Sisters, you won't be coming out ever again." Rosy looked to Nat's face, which was closer than before. She found that she liked it being close. "And Rosy – it might be that it's not the Defiler who would stop you if you come out unharmed." Then his hands were gone from hers, and he leant back against the wall. "Lamb might not like the Defiler because he has his own thoughts, his own purpose that goes against her utopia. He doesn't do what she wants." He turned back to Rosy.

"You clearly don't have the same ideas as her. If she finds out what do you think she'd do with you?" Rosy thought of how Dr Lamb had never spoken to her in the same way as the voice had. Dr Lamb's voice gave orders, and if that tone was severe, Rosy wasn't sure she wanted to know what her condemning voice sounded like, the voice that showed you and made you understand what Persephone used to be about. "Don't stop the Defiler, but don't protect him either. Just watch, Rosy. Watch until you can act. And the less of Lamb's minions there are to attack you for it – the better."


End file.
